Poem of the Month
Familiar Hours

By John McAuley

Published on May 6, 2014
Its steady hands reckoning our course
around the face of time
make me uneasily aware
of my mortality and yours.
From vague gazes and half-finished sentences
the humming of our travel clock
coaxes us to parables, morals, cautionary tales.
Words do not fail this errant reality
ever decoded by action and plans
for love, for truth, and so on–
for Eden Interruptus.
I can see us both coffin-bound
wonder if we will meet again
in fate’s garden. I can hear our first conversation
smell our impulsive desire
touch our grace to stop the time.

More Poetry

a love-hate song to a hometown

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

Retreating Ice

Count on it, every spring
you will find the river again.

Rocks at the edge will re-emerge
like loaves of bread salvaged from your freezer.