ethel_knots

What do we do when the waiting is over?

2008-04-23T13:42:00.000-05:00

Depends on the waiting and the what

for, I suppose. Depends on the leaving

or the returning, coming or going, here

or there.

It really does

Depend

On what we are waiting for.

What will I do now that the waiting is over?

I guess, we’ll just have to wait and see.

morning observation #97

2007-11-09T01:10:00.001-06:00

for you

I am

as always

To Garth and Yvonne, wherever they may be

2007-08-20T21:21:00.000-05:00

We suspect that it didn’t end well. That she
came from a long line of short lives that ended
badly. That he was prone to missteps and bad
ideas. Like champagne flutes with embossed
name plates. That they celebrated in white veil
and gray tuxedo, toasted their good fortune by
tapping pewter and glass against pewter and
glass. We suspect that things didn’t go as planned.
How else can we explain these flutes abandoned
then purchased at a Goodwill for 25¢ each? They
weren’t among the divided goods. That they didn’t
rate as high as the pool table or dvd player. But
we suspect that things will be different this time
around. That we’ll give Garth and Yvonne a good
home. That we’ll toast our good fortune with more
than pewter and glass and veils.

I am suspended with you

2007-01-02T19:32:00.000-06:00

I will keep my wrist watch
on Vancouver time, ask you
to leave my pillow in its place
save my scent on your sheets,
hoping you will remember, the
hawk overhead, paused in midair
steady against the wind.

The Hibou

2006-11-21T21:29:00.000-06:00

On November 21, 1936 at 4:50pm, the Hibou sank in Georgian Bay just outside of Owen Sound harbour. A small collection of poems marking this occasion, recollections, memory, time and water can be found here.

Morning observation #80

2006-11-15T21:29:00.000-06:00

I am waiting for you
to wake up, waiting
for your first words,
wondering if they'll
arrive in a whisper,
voice cracking
slightly. I am waiting
for you to wake up,
watching your mouth,
slightly parted,
holding each moment,
discovering the
warmth in a pause.

You asked me to write a poem about zen pants and serenity sweaters

2006-10-25T15:09:00.000-05:00

It was a passing comment between
bathroom & bedroom, you pulled

your shirt over your head, ignoring
buttons, tossing it on a chair, dis-
missing protocol & laundry hampers

adding, Then I’ll know which poem
is for me, and you flopped into bed.

I wonder what else you’ve missed
the trail laid out so carefully before you

no tricks or twists, I thought, only

a well placed chair, clean shirts in the
closet, a soft bed to fall into, a place

to start again.

Did you know that kiwis grow in Nova Scotia?

2006-10-24T14:17:00.000-05:00

Pieces of New Zealand, rock & soil
lodged in the Atlantic, closer to

Greenland & the arctic cap, the highest tides
& black sand, tropical fruit grows

amidst northern hurricanes, orchards survive
seasons of snow squalls, Chinese gooseberries

renamed, rebranded, reminding you
distance does not equal divide, promising

maybe when you least expect it, a small taste of home.

One day, as I made a vague reference to Gena Rowlands

2006-10-10T20:27:00.000-05:00

I told you I was too tired
to stand up any longer, and

you took me literally, sweetly
offering me a chair.

Why I prefer mysteries to non-fiction

2006-09-29T22:37:00.000-05:00

I am so easily
disappointed

by truth &
have yet to

fully recover
from learning

glass is not
a solid but

a slow liquid
descending

ripples &
waves in

silence.

On our second date

2006-09-14T21:21:00.000-05:00

You gave me a book
on Jenny Lind, “The
Swedish Nightingale”

turned corners, pictures
of PT Barnum n Tom
Thumb, pages soft n light

with the inscription, “The
Trill of a Lifetime,” below
your sketch of a bird.

Memory in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction

2006-08-28T14:31:00.000-05:00

We like to think these are dreams, or a story
we once heard, then repeated. We like to think

we were better dressed, less suspicious, more in
love. We like to think that we argued less, about

less trivial things; that I laughed too hard when
Josh called my t-shirt the colour of moxie; we

could never agree on the merits of John Cheever
or Frank Zappa. We like to believe that film fades

while memories grow; that words can replace what
we have lost. We like to forget that mornings were

often difficult, or how often we endured an awkward
pause; that being away, too often, felt more like home.

(You can view a short film of this poem here.)

My most autobiographical poem, yet

2006-08-06T23:40:00.000-05:00

I want
a house
by the
ocean,
the one
just to
the right
of here,
where water
will cover
my scars.

Saturday 5 August: 2pm

2006-08-06T20:56:00.000-05:00

You stormed through the back door shouting,
“What’s with the Portuguese and parades?”

You wouldn’t apologize for the warm coffee
because it wasn’t your fault. “Twenty minutes!
Twenty!” You stood over me, arms akimbo

and I was careful not to smile too soon, which
isn’t an easy thing when I think of arms akimbo.

“I couldn’t cross the street. Had to walk
blocks just to find a gap.” So, I lifted my legs

from the coffee table and swung around while you
dropped to the couch and tucked into me, nose
brushing my neck, nostrils no longer flared and I

continued with the crossword puzzle, searching
for a 7-letter word to describe the phrase, At

this very moment. You whispered, “Perfect.”

Morning observation #77

2006-08-04T09:21:00.000-05:00

This life is slow
without
you.

Frank at Forty

2006-07-26T08:57:00.000-05:00

(July 26, 2006)

is no different than frank at 35
or 10 gone is gone and we’ll never
share a dinner table which is just
as well probably best and I guess
it’s all a matter of missing someone
you never knew knowing something
you will always love will never leave

It feels like only yesterday (when I remember how yesterday felt)

2006-07-23T22:14:00.000-05:00

You met me after work with a quart
of cherries, an avocado & baguette, red
wine in a plastic orange juice bottle. Flowers,

mainly carnations, were woven through my bike
basket with a small paper banner that read: Happy
Birthday. “I know,” you said. “But it’s worth celebrating

more than once.” We walked to the park, eating
our cherries and thanking everyone who wished us
a happy birthday along the way. I’m sure that evening

was cooler than I remember. You sliced the avocado
and served it on chunks of bread and I saved the pit. “I’ll
plant a tree!” I said, remembering all my sister’s attempts

pits supported by tooth picks in glasses of water
and left on window sills, waiting for that first
sprout & precious amounts of sunlight and hope. Of course,

I could be remembering that wrong, too. I worry
sometimes that I’ve mixed these days up; added sunshine,
a breeze on my cheeks, your mouth, my arms behind my head

my body stretched long. You sat beside me, never
moving your hand from its place on my thigh just beneath
my skirt. I made a wish, blowing on a blade of grass instead

of a candle, an awkward note that could have been
a honk, or a cry, but will always be music as we one by
one listed all our favourite days that came before this one.

morning observation #74

2006-07-06T11:00:00.000-05:00

I collect ex-lovers like
bottlecaps; the flair
of excess on display.

An early show, when the room is still filled with sunlight

2006-06-26T19:45:00.000-05:00

I scribble in my notebook: I want the man in the Rush t-shirt
to come inside; to join our crowded interlude. You write back:

A man who truly appreciates classic rock should experience
this: dotting your i’s with bubble hearts although I can’t say why.

He peers through the window, curious or confused by these
musical notes, until his wife tugs his sleeve and pulls him away

and we both smile, rocking slightly on the balls of our feet
standing so close to the band that I’m tempted to reach and slap

a shoulder with a hearty ‘Good job!’ or kiss a forehead to feel
body heat and sweat, or a hand on the keyboard for vibrations.

Do you think we hear music better in daylight?: I consider
comparing it to conversations when I’m not wearing glasses

how blurred faces create muffled voices, or that we don’t listen
as intently when eye-to-eye because we’re more likely to feel

our surroundings. In the dark, you can pretend you’re alone:
you sketch a tiny sun before handing the book back

suddenly worried we’ve become too sentimental and decide
to blame the music, say you were carried away, if pressed

and the only thing I can think to do is hold your hand, lacing
fingers in warm light, when we both thought that time had long past.

You are picnic perfect

2006-06-19T21:27:00.000-05:00

Poised on the
blanket, pink &
white, perched over
your peanut butter
& jelly, pickles & porcini,
passing time playing
Scrabble (it should be
poker or parcheesi
but we are selective
with pleasure).

At our peril
we have packed
a lunch, placed ourselves
in the path of ants &
birds of prey, seeking,
perishables, pieces of challah
or possible pie crumbs,
following the promise of
proximity & warm sunshine,
peeling off layers, summer
persuasions, probable.

Morning observation #72

2006-06-15T22:41:00.000-05:00

I would be happy with your voice

vibrations against my ear, flushed
and bruised.

Morning observation #70

2006-06-03T15:17:00.000-05:00

People think you're smiling
when you're just walking
into the sun.

When the future they promised us finally arrives

2006-05-16T21:45:00.000-05:00

For F.

Yes, we will have the luxury of private bi-planes,
private landing strips on top of skyscrapers, jet
packs, white furniture with clean simple lines, egg-
shaped chairs and square glasses with green, pink
or blue liquid, but wait, there’s more!

Cupcakes will be a food group and candy will arrive
through shoots (no more corner stores for us!), form-
fitting pantsuits, sear sucker for comfort and style,
that will only reveal what we want to reveal, what we
want to reveal is concealed, and then!

Men will find it sexy when we discuss the double
helix, or the now infamous bingo on BEZIQUE, when
we have the choice, we remain old fashioned, forgo
gadgets for books, fold-out maps, stitched spines and
cloth covers, ever future past perfect.

Lies I may have told (III)

2006-05-06T09:00:00.000-05:00

My blueberry stained
hands (from working
in a bakery & mixing
frozen fruit with muffin
batter) were the hands
of an artist, stained
with paint & toil.

A Birthday Lament

2006-05-05T17:40:00.000-05:00

For your birthday, I gave you
a box of feathers, loose & white

with a card that read, so you
will always remember flight.

Poem

2006-05-02T14:53:00.000-05:00

You kissed me beneath
the Simon Bolivar statue, green
and blue against black bronze.
“I wanted to kiss you in daylight,”
you said, sun and breath against
rosy cheeks, your words wet and
warm in my mouth.

A hockey poem for Brian

2006-04-28T17:12:00.000-05:00

I can’t cheer for Tampa Bay, too many
painful memories of Florida: a fear of
sharks nipping at my heels in the ocean;
the triple threat of a hotel room, HBO and
trucker speed.

No, I’ll stick with Ottawa, even though
it reminds me of uncomfortable breakfasts,
a bitter cold and never knowing what to do
with my hands.

There are no atheists in foxholes, no fence
sitters during playoffs, no regret that can’t
be forgiven.

Admitting a thing or two about the forces of Nature

2006-04-25T22:24:00.000-05:00

I am nothing like a bear; I do not shit
in the woods. Although I try; to be a good sport,
wear extra socks, hold tent poles

buckle up, buckle down

wait patiently for food to be pulled down
from trees (our life in the woods is governed
by the presence of bears)

missing soft tacos and home delivery.

Why can’t I stop thinking about summer
camp? Stories of spiders crawling in
sleeping girls’ ears & laying eggs

stories that never turn out well

a bedwetting bunkmate, a boy named
Patrick & a first kiss (just before learning
I was not alone), mysterious bites

a call for ointment & a damp cloth.

I readjust our mattress over rocky ground,
then adjust it again, wishing I had insisted
on air because air must be better than foam

the illusion of never touching earth.

Walking through his mother's house

2006-04-21T23:56:00.000-05:00

They let themselves in the back way,
avoiding prying neighbours’ eyes.

Leaving their shoes by the door,
they discard clothes,
piece
by
piece, as they pass
through rooms, but keep their socks
on like old fashioned porn actors,
feet sinking in thick carpet,
lustrous.

It feels like trespassing, like
they’ve entered a place they
don’t belong. “Maybe we’re ghosts,”
he says
lightly touching furniture
convinced
only this contact will prove he is,
in fact, in his mother’s house,
that he isn’t, in fact, a ghost, although
he never tells her this, just as
she doesn’t
confess
she still can’t decide
whether or not she loves him,
despite saying the words dozens of times.

The house smells of sachets and pot pourri,
a little floral,
a little spicy, figurines of flower bouquets,
hand painted porcelain petals blooming
in china pots, decorate the living room,
landscapes hang
over the chesterfield
and side board
and mantle.

She enjoys the quiet
of this suburban home,
no sounds of traffic
or sirens,
upstairs neighbours
or television sets, only the low hum
of central air filling the room, until
she notices his tapping;
a soft beat along the sofa,
a light thump,
thump,
then a rap on a tabletop;
two taps, a quick drag
with his index finger,
then another beat, lost in his rhythm.

He might have left a trail in dust,
if there was any dust to be found.

She preferred a solid paper trail,
found bits or photos,
newsprint pamphlets on Christ, a Monopoly game piece
(the car, found on a park bench), a motel receipt (Room 4,
an illicit affair, she hoped), four third place track and field
ribbons fixed together with a safety pin, a list of do’s and
don’ts that came with a new hair dryer (including #7:
Never use while sleeping), a birthday card ripped then
taped together again (many happy returns, Jack!),
she keeps in a box, and another box,
inside a trunk.

He leads her into the kitchen
where she leans
her naked body
against the counter
and reads aloud, advice
found on magnets, promotional items
from the local fire department; “Never give
fireworks to small children,” she announces,
before smiling at him,
a sweet smile,
almost tender, then adds,
“Alcohol and fire are a dangerous mix,”
this time attempting a frown that
he does not believe.

She likes his smile,
his thin lips that curl up on one side,
likes when he adds extra emphasis,
raising a brow and rolling his eyes
in mock ecstasy,
making her feel a bit light headed
so that she wonders if this is,
in fact, love
but doesn’t feel qualified to say.

He matches her words of wisdom
with some of his own, “Never leave
luggage unattended” he says; placing his hands
on either side of her,
angling in,
he adds,
“In case of snowstorm, always keep
chocolate and candles in the glove compartment,”
and she giggles, conscious
her flesh moves, despite standing still
and decides not to care.

She pushes herself up
from the counter, locking eyes
with him, standing straight,
attempting her tough girl stance.

“And if you must shoot,” she says
“Aim low.”

Without realizing, they both arrive
at the same conclusion, that perhaps
salvation is possible;
they might not lose their way if they
remember all the Dick Van Dyke
Saturday morning PSAs; to drop
and roll at the first sign of danger,
stick close to the floor in a smoke filled room,
don’t open a door if the handle is hot,
but they keep their thoughts to themselves
as silence returns
and only the chill of the late
afternoon between them.

They do
not touch,
their bodies,
a series of near misses.

An epopee revealed, one morning at a time

2006-04-18T20:51:00.000-05:00

Your hands, square, perfect
for opening jars,
setting up tents,
launching boats, hold

a book of Nabokov poems (you
prefer poetry that rhymes)
and nudge me awake

to read aloud a poem:
a family picnic and a man
who disappears into a tree.

morning observation #62

2006-04-14T22:54:00.000-05:00

I’ve been thinking too much lately about you

standing at the end of the bed walking through
our kitchen a kitchen I imagine painted blue

your bare feet on tiles your bare belly against mine.

I’ve been thinking too much lately of you

holding your car keys waiting for me to dress
sneaking a look at your watch your hand against

the door jam worn smooth with too much worry

lately I can only think of you.

Iona, at play

2006-04-14T12:07:00.000-05:00

She likes to wear blue. Soft
waves. Or green.

Rolling. While she is straight.
Hips that didn’t broaden. A

teenager, stretched thin.

morning observation #59

2006-04-12T14:05:00.000-05:00

M. remarked: I will do anything
if you ask three times.

M. remarked: I will do anything
if you close with a wink.

M. remarked: I will do anything
if you, and I, conspire.

A Gentleman or Lady's Pocket Guide to Birthday Etiquette

2006-03-24T10:09:00.000-06:00

Chapter Four

When greeting an acquaintance
on his or her birthday, you have
one of three options:

1.
A handshake is always acceptable, and
should, in fact, be encouraged. A kiss, Parisian
style, of course, one for each cheek (please see

Figures A and B), should only be attempted
under ideal circumstances. An awkward
reach, or misguided ‘landing’ will only result

in embarrassment for each party. Assess
each situation on an individual basis and
proceed accordingly.

2.
A gentleman or lady of charm will always carry
copies of Jim Carroll’s birthday poem, or Frank
O’Hara’s odes to Rachmaninoff, for such occasions. A lady

or gentleman is always prepared. Of course, one of
the many difficulties with acquaintanceship is that one
may lose track of who has received a poem

in the past. Maintaining a chart and reviewing it
on a semi-regular basis should solve the problem (please
see Figure C).

3.
One must always be conscious of the fluid nature
of such relationships. Be aware! Be especially
observant of those acquaintances soon to be

friends. (The category of friends soon to be something
more will be dealt with in a later chapter.) This may be

the moment! A gentleman or lady knows, this may
be a moment, the moment, sometimes referred to as a bend
in the road (please see Figure D), when that which once was

is no more.

Saturday 11 March 2006

2006-03-14T13:03:00.000-06:00

Do you know anything
about shape shifters?     or shape
shifting (an action item)     not a
chameleon (as they try to hide)     more
aKin to a goldfish     changing with its
environment     (when do they become koi?)

when did we become     (something else?)
(I've lost count     criss-crossing
storylines)     lost among the lines of kindred
paths     and characters.

Prayers to the B.V.M.

2006-03-04T16:11:00.000-06:00

I want : smooth skin and soft curves. I want : someone
to sit in the car while I double park. I want : to travel

by train in a private compartment with windows that open
from the top and when we pull the pane down he says, I can
smell the buds on the trees, as we rush past. I want : a

mustachioed man to tickle behind my ear. I want : a brass band
for those occasions when nothing else will do. I want : was a band

in the late 80s that I never saw but hope that lead singer Brian
Hiltz is doing well. I want : seems so selfish but if I can’t ask you
than who? Assuming you can keep a secret, of course. I want : to ride

on the handlebars. I want : to be mistaken for someone glamorous,
or mysterious, captivating or maybe just someone with good bangs.

I want : someone who will kiss me in alley ways, who will kiss me
in all ways. I want : this too. I want : a second chance.

morning observation #58

2006-03-02T23:31:00.000-06:00

This is not how
I remember you.

Searching for missing pieces at the YMCA

2006-02-27T22:52:00.000-06:00

The naked girl was at the gym today (shorts that can hardly
be called shorts, now can they?, resting below hip bones. I
think she has a new tattoo) and the boys who stand out front
drinking coffee and smoking on a break from their workout
(I admire those boys. Such stamina!)

and it reminded me that I haven’t seen the old man with dress
shoes and knee-highs for a while (I hope that he’s all right. It’s
strange that we’ll never know). I worry that I haven’t kept you
up to date on these details

that you’ll never hear about the old woman in the shower (she
had the perfect hair. Flowing white and grey) who said I smelled
nice (and, of course, I wasn’t sure of the proper response so I
smiled and held up my bottle of Life Brand body wash), or how
I waited by the pay phones for two hours

trying to look busy (wondering, will this magazine fool anyone?,
flipping past photographs of teenage celebrities on the beach,
skimming articles about high society murders and old Hollywood
love affairs) all the while, watching the door.

Over a Dinner Table

2006-02-19T18:40:00.000-06:00

I recite : The hopeless hope of Harry Hope,
trying to extinguish the flame. It flickers.

You press a thumb to my lips, holding my breath.
Try Hamlin or Houdini, instead, you say: we glow.

morning observation #55

2006-02-10T16:42:00.000-06:00

My apartment is the Mary
Celeste warm cups of coffee
left unattended bodies,
having just stepped away
a mysterious empty
a haunting persistence.

A simple lesson of physics

2006-02-05T15:27:00.000-06:00

The pint law of pool states that one
is a moderate player at one pint, exceptional

at two and pathetic at three. We did not
make this up. This is a truth alongside

the long established bar rules of pool:
you only have to call the eight ball and

we’ll forgive a scratch or two, if the shot
makes me laugh and

you make me laugh, something hearty, so
there’s a taste of metal in my mouth,

made all the better as it’s mid-afternoon
and we’re supposed to be somewhere else but

this bar is perfect. All the sunshine is
hidden behind booths and half wall partitions

made of flecked particle board, and all the
patrons, all five of them, comment on our game, suggesting

a match with the winner, although we all know
the competition is slim. A man at the next table offers

lessons math teacher style, leaning over
me, arms on either side so I have to crouch down. When he

presses his crotch into my hip I jump up,
knocking the cue ball into the side pocket and scatter the

remaining solids and stripes across the table,
the ten and eleven coming to rest side by side, kissing, at one

end, about ten inches from the bank, you sip from
your pint, wink at me, and move to take your turn. I stand

at the other end, near the ten and eleven, for a
better view as you aim and shoot, full force, hitting

your target perfectly, the ten to the left, the eleven
to the right, both landing in corner pockets, one a half second

after the other. The few at the bar cheer, even the
wannabe math teacher claps, and you raise your arms

shouting ‘It’s a Christmas miracle!’ and I don’t
correct you because I know how you love to misplace holidays, and

you wink again, because you know I can’t and you
know that I love it when you do.

morning observation #53

2006-02-05T09:28:00.000-06:00

you have yet to notice : the delicate bones
of wrists : scars that mark my bent fingers

permanently coiled : my awkward patience

that this poem is about you

A student of Ars Memorativa speaks out

2006-01-26T15:28:00.001-06:00

The distance from sun to earth, the definition
of vertex vs. apex, or acme, for

that matter, what Hobbes meant, whether
or not a bumble bee should fly because I’ve

heard conflicting reports,           I will never

remember my lock combination (having
resorted to numbers written along the side of

my running shoe) or a phone number when
using a rotary dial, that I’ve

learned this lesson before, already tended
these wounds,               I will never

remember how to tie the perfect slip knot,
names of goalies or baseball stats or identify

a down, even though I’ve heard the football vs.
chess analogy any number of times, and then

there was something about Erik Satie and
vegetables that’s on the tip of my tongue, a

predilection, or an aversion, that I’ve lost
walking through this house, room
by room,                         I will never

remember that I’ve heard all your words
before, this moment                      I will never.

morning observation #52

2006-01-20T20:45:00.000-06:00

Waking up next
to you reminds me

of opening a cabin
after winter, the
musty smell of blankets
& rugs meeting fresh air

or cutting across a park
on a spring day, knowing
I’ll slide through mud.

A quick survey of an Atlas of the Night Sky reveals

2006-01-19T10:00:00.000-06:00

I am a meridian       marking my place above (+) or
below (-) the horizon       the stars (do I have to use
the word canopy? does it have to come to that?) say

wherever I stand is the centre of the universe
the zenith always directly above my head       (the
surest path to heaven?)      forcing me to look up

the definition of apogee       (the most distant point
from an object being orbited)       and so I stand
still       cataloguing activity      (celestial-wise).

I can always find time

2006-01-13T18:52:00.000-06:00

Send out book length missives
about the great lakes, underwater
wrecks, depression-era small town
industries & how they all somehow
connect to the episode of Dawson's
Creek when Pacey & Jen were caught
in the storm, provide remedies for
bad backs & caffeine detox, methods
to combat stage fright, list various
means of distraction & denial, or
wonder if anyone can say how long
it takes for a drowned body to rise
to the surface.

morning observation #49

2006-01-11T10:08:00.000-06:00

after a night of Thin Man games (I’ll take
5 more – line them up right here!), I’ve discovered

that mornings aren’t so witty when you don’t
own a proper dressing gown

and I am, in fact, not Nora (or Myrna)

my mouth too dry for a pithy
retort, my mouth too dry
to say pithy

morning observation #51

2006-01-05T22:52:00.000-06:00

Soundscapes was made for people
like me open late to catch
drunken stragglers desperate
for a final round desperate to not
appear desperate catching looks
over cd racks (wood & beautiful)
browsing the Americana section pulling
out the Gram Parsons just one more time

Dedication

2006-01-02T18:11:00.000-06:00

I want to love you like a William
Carlos Williams’ poem : a different story
when said out loud : a rhythm

I hum sweetly in my head.

We knew each other’s bodies before
being naked : light touches : hips : lower
backs : slightly flushed cheeks

repetition : your voice : your breath :
your breath over me : your breath
over my body : my body over

you : a sweetness like plums : fresh.

The Nightly Savage

2005-12-28T00:32:00.000-06:00

(for Frank O’Hara)

These are your streets. I see you leaving buildings
entering bars, the remodeled Cedar where I drink
vodka then gin then vodka again (an addictive allusion)
and! carefully extract this and that while

I look for you on these streets. Walk the length of 2nd
listening for open windows, the late late show (playing
Alice Adams, Bebe Daniels, James Dean?) and promises
of scrambled eggs in the morning, waiting to ask

would you love me? (am I a person you would love after
a party?) waiting for snow, waiting for rain, waiting for
fingers like doves. Grace! Fortune! Be damned! These
words are for you, these streets I will travel, as always.

morning observation #48

2005-12-21T12:16:00.000-06:00

the queue goes past my front door
scarves hoods hands      shields
against the brisk wind    bitter
patience      as commuters abide

hope is a nasty business, you say

a kiss on the forehead     we turn
our separate ways

Yet another list poem

2005-12-21T07:27:00.000-06:00

I will write you a poem about swimming
trunks [black, well fitted], something to wear
at the seaside while I relax beneath a parasol.

I will dedicate every book to Stone & Starky,
or we will name our dogs [2 dachshunds, long
hair] Stone & Starky, or our children.

You will send handwritten letters by mail [bona
fide] about nothing acute or even remarkable,
apart from the details you worry you’ll forget.

We will write lists [poems & otherwise] [best laid
plans] [nicknames] [magic tricks] [disappoint
ments] [hiding places] [titles for porn star
biographies] [places we’ve never been] [words
we’ve never used before] pass them to each other
on folded pieces of paper, corners smoothed down.

You will take me dancing, whisper always
with the blue shoes [echo] like we were an old
married couple on our Friday night date.

morning observation #45

2005-12-18T19:39:00.000-06:00

Too many kisses
in the backs of cabs
with too many boys

not enough mornings
filled with regret.

For Mary Cecelia Olmstead on her birthday

2005-12-18T13:25:00.000-06:00

You might not remember : you gave me a teapot (2 cup), a mug (CKLN), some candles, a roll of posters (including Einstein sticking his tongue out, Guernica), an extra blanket, tea (assorted), a tea ball, 2 spoons, 1 knife, 1 fork, an extra pillow, all of my textbooks (we went to the bookstore earlier in the summer & you showed me how to look up course lists & I loaded myself down with french activity books & novels & my first precious copy of the norton anthology) : you left quickly : left me : left me talking : left me to settle : left me to settle in : stretch : reach : & accelerate.

Fun Fact

2005-12-16T06:54:00.000-06:00

Dirigibles flew so low
that windows could open

one might smoke a cigarette
leaning out over the ocean

one might feel the sea spray
if the pilot flew low enough

if the pilot flew low enough
one might feel the comfort of earth

while never touching the ground

hanging perfectly
in the balance

morning observation #21

2005-12-14T13:21:00.000-06:00

there is nothing brighter than the dawn
afterward     nothing as crisp     a flash 
across shingles     we are a well fueled glow  
taking alleyways home

although it must be later     people are leaving 
for work     garage doors open for idling cars
the pavement sparkles     yes, sparkles
each grain reflecting     the morning sun

heading west     knowing 
we won’t sleep for days

Thursday 8 December 2005

2005-12-11T20:58:00.000-06:00

[we spoke on the phone : a casual conversation
that turned : into hours : can we measure this
motion? : an impractical ascent : surprised by
descending joy]

[trying to look casual as I kissed you : we would
go back to being friends any time soon : first
the cheek : then the other : a little too close : once
more : testing waters to see who backed down first]

[question whether we had ever loved before : nothing
like this, you said : mornings disappear : days contract :
I made you bread : kneading flour on the kitchen table
& letting it rise over the afternoon : smoothed my fingers
over your hair : too short to run my fingers through : while
we waited]

[I liked that you called me baby : let it slip now &
then : calling for a drink from the kitchen : announcing
return : departure : over your shoulder before rising]

[you liked theories & discoveries : read science magazines
& desmond morris & speculative fiction when you thought
no one was looking : explained each new one in detail :
every twist revealed]

[or did I call you baby? : boy : mister : feller : tiger : poor lamb]

[the last phone call : a strangely polite exchange : do anniversaries
mark beginnings or endings? : do I remember this day for you? :
perhaps there was someone else : something else : the first day
I didn’t think of you]

[the first day I knew : I am not in love]

To the boy I hoped would be the last (on his birthday)

2005-12-10T17:53:00.000-06:00

As breakfast is the most important
meal of the day, I’ll deliver yours on a tray

toast & jam (homemade)

a bowl of fruit, yogurt, honey

the morning paper & crossword

I’ll serve coffee in the thermos
I got for my birthday

(in lieu of a dog

Canadian Tire makes me less weepy
than the pound)

& curl into the pillows, into you

with a kiss for each of your years.

morning observation #42

2005-12-07T15:15:00.000-06:00

I never thought
I'd love a man who
tucks in his shirts.

Stand up eight

2005-12-06T09:06:00.000-06:00

A life long cribbage tournament : to date : 2 games
played (in 1998) : score 1 - 1.

Finishing the crossword, in ink, before my second
cup of coffee.

Easily distinguish between the Charlies; Mingus &
Parker. Also : Elias Koteas & Christopher Meloni, John
Heard & William Hurt, Pat Hingle & Art Hindle.

Smoke & Variety : the musical.

That moment : it has happened only once so far : surprised
by sunlight when leaving a movie theatre.

Learn to throw a punch & take one.

Hearing your giggle from across the room.

Look a man wearing sandals in the eye & not
cast judgment.

Knowing that F. will laugh when she reads : Smoke &
Variety : the musical : spinning of the chair will likely ensue.

Someone kissing me first.

I will forgive you : we will not be friends but will fondly
recall the time you shoplifted cough drops : I was so
miserable & we didn't have enough pocket change : or
when I dropped my house keys down a sewer grate : city
workers arrived with a rope & large round magnet
to search the sludge.

Endings that aren't really endings.

Semper alacer : aliquando sinistra.

A brioche from Claude's : garlic soup : road dogs &
champagne : a root beer sipped slowly outside a car wash :
looking at a full moon through glass : stories read aloud
while wrapped tightly in a sleeping bag : a window seat
with the perfect view of snow falling past street lights : repeat.

To Michael Olmstead on his 45th birthday

2005-12-01T22:00:00.000-06:00

Your birthday means that it’s almost winter : when the world
feels so much smaller : snow coming down hard? : maybe that’s
why I’m drawn to stories of polar exploration : a fascination with
endless white and an indefinite horizon : but it has more to do
with the unknown : if you don’t know the ending does that mean
the possibilities are limitless? : you were the first I knew to travel
far : searched the Rand McNally for Saudi Arabia then Thailand :
losing a shoe at a David Bowie concert in Singapore : a coin flattened
on a railway track : amazed that such things happen : unfathomable
prospects of adulthood : I’ve been reading Frank’s Vincent poems
lately : eating dinners in Toronto : movies and fantasy and distance :
my home feeling as exotic as away : stories sustain me : I take what
remains : a key : it says Falcon and I loved Star Wars : should I
admit that I still have it? : idée fixe : birthday poems : anticipation.

morning observation #40

2005-11-28T20:49:00.000-06:00

washing hair is never as enjoyable alone

your fingers pulling through locks
the squeak of well rinsed strands

a carefully positioned showerhead
warm water, a cascade

morning observation #36

2005-11-28T15:50:00.000-06:00

there is no you
& you
or you, only I

Friday 18 November 2005 (III)

2005-11-27T22:35:00.000-06:00


I told you that I don’t trust memories to photographs

    something so static could never capture
        anything so fluid

but didn’t finish that thought

a photo will never express
        the late afternoon grit of a Roman summer or
        wandering lost in Trastevere

  I need to draw a map on your chest

        my apartment building(s), the morning market(s)

        the cemetery in San Lorenzo where I napped
        under trees and shared my lunch with stray cats

    press against you
        a sun so hot it sears your skin
        cool tiles & thick shutters that balance the heat

a picture will never be
        the sound of an old woman
        screaming into the courtyard every Sunday morning at six

        the sound of an old woman
        screaming on the midnight train from Venice

    I’ll need to circle your ear
        murmur you from a deep sleep
        eyelids fluttering to a far away voice

    I will describe watching Badlands in a park
        my tongue writing words
        along the roof of your mouth

    mark the lines of your hips, small nips
        for riding bus 64 between termini and the Vatican
        notorious for pickpockets and molesters

but we move to the next photo  the next gallery  the next day
 
with me only reaching part way   and you not wanting to pry

A welcome wagon quandary

2005-11-27T10:11:00.000-06:00

Is it irony if, while waiting for friends at the airport,
a man walks past wearing an

If ASSHOLES could fly
this place would be an AIRPORT t-shirt?

An oxymoron?

A premonition?

A man who is comfortable
telling it like it is?

Electric Eden

2005-11-27T10:09:00.000-06:00

I
Two lifeguards blow their whistles for beach infractions. I walked on to the rocks, I sat in the ‘clear area’. I look like the hick I truly am.

II
Three women, lying on beach towels, trying to light their smokes on a windy day. One woman has the bright idea to stick her head in a big bag – flicking the lighter in her plastic tent.

III
An old couple wading into the water. He’s very skinny & wears a bright yellow bathing cap not pulled down over his scalp. Bunched loosely on top of his head, it looks like a cock’s comb.

IV
People come in all shapes and sizes but Speedo’s, apparently, come in only one.

V
To ride the Cyclone you must ‘secure all hats, wigs and jewelry’. An old man, hunched into the booth, takes our tickets. We suspect he’s like a goldfish – or square watermelon - and has grown to fit his environment, shaped by his very small space.

VI
I only hold the safety bar half of the time. I scream for most of the ride.

VII
I am brave enough to pee in the washroom (not as dirty as you might think/ not as clean as you’d like) of a Coney Island freak show.

VIII
We are old time gullible enough to pay an extra dollar (U.S. funds) to view the ‘Freak Show Hall of Fame.’ It’s a video montage – mostly images pulled from episodes of ‘Biography’ & the Tod Browning film.

IX
A Carny calls us ‘Baby Mommy’ & ‘Baby Daddy’. He pulls us in by yelling, ‘Only other thing you get for $2 is stamps & cigarettes!’ We wonder if his booth is also a time machine.

X
On a rooftop patio in Brighton Beach, a Russian man uses a Snapple bottle to open our beer. His entire table cheers as foam spills on the concrete floor. Our beer, and their vodka, is technically illegal. No one seems to mind.

I sleep naked when drunk

2005-11-27T10:08:00.000-06:00

Dance at inappropriate times

laugh with a troubling amount
of volume

ask questions I don’t want
answers to

trip over things no one else
can see

my heart beating too close
to the surface

Basement Apartment

2005-11-27T10:07:00.000-06:00

I like to think of you outside.
We were better people in the sunshine.

Rooms cluttered with picture frames and books.
Garage sale purchases lined the shelves.

Half my mornings were spent in the dark.
Moving quietly through the room while you slept.

You said this was a sign of weakness.
I think, for a clumsy person,

I had a surprising amount of grace.

morning observations #35

2005-11-26T17:07:00.000-06:00

I love a boy’s belly
so different than a girl’s

well, different than mine
certainly not so soft

a half moon hill
smooth curves
warm to the touch.

I love when a boy
rolls on his back
rounded belly exposed

lets me rest my hand

open palmed

when we both know
I could never do the same.

Trust is following someone through the NY city subway system

2005-11-26T17:06:00.000-06:00

Into tunnels that only descend

through the stagnant air of a heat wave.

We don’t attempt deep breaths

happy for the small amount we can consume.

‘No,’ you say, ‘I’m sure this is a shortcut’

but we’re forced to backtrack and start over several times.

You re-check the map, whispering station names

a private prayer of navigation without the aid of stars.

Our reward is emerging into a rain storm

that drives New Yorkers into doorways

destroys your shoes

soaks us so thoroughly water streams along your hallway.

Puddles form as we stand

still, if only for a moment.

Lessons we should have learned from disaster movies

2005-11-26T17:05:00.001-06:00

Pride will get you nowhere
whether it’s tall buildings
or big ships, dirigibles
or cities

it can all turn to dust

“but you keep building
them higher,” fireman McQueen
tells architect Newman

even the bible (the greatest
disaster story of all)
spoke against

the hubris of mortals
reaching the heavens

as God crushed
the Tower of Babel

the Greeks had
Icarus and his waxwings

Shakespeare his MacBeth

and there was still a race
for the highest steeple in Christendom

radio towers competing with birds

a stack of offices
like building blocks

“There’s one place
I’m worried about,” say engineer Heston
to policeman Kennedy

“We never should’ve
gone so high.”

morning observations #14

2005-11-26T17:05:00.000-06:00

so much important information     arrived
over a bowl of shreddies

john lennon’s death     terry fox’s
death     john belushi

our yellow & brown kitchen      my mother
in housecoat preparing lunches     stirring my father’s
red river cereal     me

listening,

     still

I am glad

2005-11-26T16:55:00.000-06:00

I never made you dinner

or read aloud my favourite passage from Jayne Anne Phillips or

told you the whole story of scars.

I never left a toothbrush or contact case
in your bathroom
because wouldn’t that be embarrassing.

I said a polite thank you, tried not to blush
whenever you complimented me or
said something terribly sweet
and I’ll try not to blush now.

That I didn’t straddle you on the kitchen chair
wrapping my legs around rungs for leverage
pushing you deeper inside
because that would have been next on the list.

That I asked questions when I did
because that would have felt a lot like love
in a very short time.

That I’ll never have to refer to this as a break up
only a near romance or

a close call

a space so new that we didn’t know
if walls were going up or
coming down

that I can easily escape.

morning observations #33

2005-11-26T16:54:00.000-06:00

rosary & latest Playboy
within arm’s reach

which comes first?

will you cleanse the way
or ask for redemption?

morning observations #24

2005-11-26T16:52:00.001-06:00

your cum tastes like toothpaste & beer     or maybe
the night before     mixes with the morning
after     cleanup following the downfall
my desire     ignoring all savoury
concerns before coffee

Activities for a saturday afternoon

2005-11-26T16:52:00.000-06:00

I keep notes as we pass the cases marking

‘coffin for a hawk’
‘coffin for the bones of a kitten’
‘coffin for an egyptian mongoose’

in my book

I lose sight of you
somewhere near the scarab beetles

while you search for bones
and I make a quick sketch

of regenesis

morning observation #32b

2005-11-26T16:51:00.000-06:00

you have the mannerisms     of an ex-smoker     the span
of your fingers spread wide      always conscience
of what’s missing     like you’ve left a coat
or a girl behind

morning observation #32a

2005-11-26T16:50:00.000-06:00

your neck     red after shaving     as if
you’ve just learned     how to use a razor     stroke up
or stroke down     your neck     still cool from the water