Poem of the Month

The fall of ’47 I was 25 and still living in Viluta. What made me stay so long? What made me linger in that nothing place, that hamlet of ten houses?

I loved my colleagues and their playful putdowns. I loved the way they paid attention to clothes — as if they never considered how their tunics and smart pantsuits looked like upholstery.

In Fredericton, we climbed buildings we ate Chinese in the valleys of elementary school roofs, me spitting out the oil

Here’s how it panned out:
the stick of dynamite,
thrown on the pond
to break up ice for trout

The animal knows nothing of Malaysia’s forest canopy. It roams where it can. Food appears. Sparrows land within the fence and go. Knows nothing of the Serengeti. Food appears. Night pivots into day.