Au Revoir, Montreal

Finally, a Toronto poem because my writing retreat ends today and I’ll board the VIA train tomorrow morning. Back to my home in Toronto’s Film District.

Thanks for reading my little words y’all. 

Making movies

CBC radio urges donations. I brush my teeth and listen.

Groceries for bodies warmed by the breath of sewer grates

Tucked-up to star-eyed poinsettias at frosty Allan Gardens.

 Flurries of extras fill fictive breadlines, at the spit

Jackie O beams beneath Corinthian columns.

 A Russian call girl is lynched at the Distillery District

and Hairspray slaps blue on Queen Street red brick.

 Across the bay we’re beckoned by buffleheads

welcome whimsy snows stretches of seagull

pocked still sand crusted beneath our unmittened nails.

 The heat of kilns lure Island potters to urban

cottages where a touch of Dickens

prospers dusty sentiment.

 At day’s end we board the ferry into the city.

Whitmanesque, the poet in your whispers.

 You take my hand. You take me home.

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About Nor

I'm a creative non-fiction writer, with a special interest in memoirs and obituaries--life stories, local histories with flesh & blood anecdotal details. I'm also beginning to create podcasts of people's stories and expanding their audiences. I'm a diarist, an editor, and a political activist. I live in Toronto, Ontario, Canada and spend days tapping keys or staining my fingers in ink.
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