Tuesday, December 28, 2010

First, there was the moment you couldn’t forget

even when you tried,
when your insides jumped and scurried,
which was enough. It was just
another hand
on yours, unfolding
a question
you’d never thought to ask.

It wasn’t long
before your heart

burst open—

it was a wild, red fire,
pulsing and beating, like the heart of bird
nestled
in the palm of your hand.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Memory 1

Dim kitchen light,
my mother’s lap
and the deep blue walls
around us.

The way my knees
tucked perfectly over hers
like two limbs swung
over top of a tree branch.

River

You twist down forever miles of country field,
call every town you touch your home.

Your waters seep through roots
that splay out under houses and acres
where memories are kept.

Each year, pieces pile up on your bed:
words from the neighbours' buried stories.
They've turned to dirt from years underground.

Great River, Mighty River, cascade
of memories.

The people don't remember,
but the houses that line your path
are watermarked
with the names
of all their stories.