10–13 nov 2008 poems

13 novembar 2008

suitcase ka-thunking over sidewalk
cracks     they walked him to the bus
station with gutted restauran—a flag
of the former socialist federal republic
abandoned overtop an empty beer fridge
—much as he wished for that souvenir
the days of asking were well and gone

       he was following rivers and trees
       in texts long before he learned
       what they were—running eye
       or fingertip in the white spaces
       between words to find images
       hidden treasure or to escape bullies
       like a line of defensive football players

even if shrubs in the park across
from city hall still spelt out tito
tonight he would cross the border
for the last known time . . .
heading for budapest and flights
west though frankfurt et montéal
to a known     safer life in fredericton

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12 blod-monath 2008

miércole dans le plateau de montréal
he can’t find the cutlery—not in drawer
or jars—found the large cutting knives
for animal flesh—le pain 7 grains
beurre d’arachide and jars of preserves

late last night’s walk past ’réal bagel
shops on saint-vaiteur took him back
decades to two sherri goldberg poets
—one published and reading at the word
the other writing     attending and wanting

blod-monath not certifie biologique
not bio-terre but back then we didn’t
have industrial animal husbandry
no chicken hell-coops like today
no conveyor belt lettuce factories

ths poet dressed in black not
a hunter of beasts for table or bed
under an almost full moon he looks
around him at friendship hope love
in the interactions of almost everyone

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11 nojábr’ 2008

from the corner of the basement
he looked up at the grey light opening
saw iron stair treads heading up
to nowhere     to the nothing above
saw some bush of tree leaves
branches with lumps that might
just might be small apples

he’d missed seeing them last night
had been enough in the darkness
to chance upon shelter not in mud
all seemed quiet     no crossfire
no aeroplanes     no rumble
of tanks or trucks     no shouts
of soldiers on patrol     no

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10 azaroa 2008

applewood print     origami brown deer
a stained glass great blue heron
came home with him in the dark rain
he must continue     must finish packing
for the road (again)     hochalaga bound
it’s good to be     he sings in his head

       the poems     the poems are calling
       o poet boy     what will ye do?
       méxico might be good for winter
       italy or a greek island     too
       this town is difficult in snow

so unlike destructive carpenter ants
the construction pigeons waddle
about the deck and scaffolding
raised and piled outside the church
they perch equally atop the highest
edge of a chipboard sheet leaning
towards the old limestone wall

fog in the lowlands below ridges
of leaf-bare hardwoods and turbines
he passes a transport of p.e.i. hogs
quebéc abbitore bound     like him
travelling to and in lower canada
a hunting hawk hovers close over
grass between twinned highway