Bubble wrap
They are mad syncopation, feet hungry for every last bubble. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
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Sea gong
You’re wrong, of course. A wave is something, tumbling us against the rocks until we are light and silver and sculpted as wood. Breathe. And watch the air take flight. (My respectful response to Lesley Wheeler, whose poem “The Sea Does Not Exist” appeared in The Malahat Review 190 (Spring 20150) p. 10,…
Train passing
The train passes and I kneel to touch the creaking iron. Expecting heat, expecting flattened pennies, my hand — rests. There are only locusts left, and the cool shushing of the river. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Two Girls on a Bridge
They scream — one clung to the side as the other boldly goes, ferocious feet and a creaking gangplank foundered on this prairie soil. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Popping lids
Apples put to bed, the children’s voice distant. Rattle-tap, rattle-tap go the busy bottles until the gas dies. Then silence. Lids popping, shutters snapping closed on another summer. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Trinity East Foghorn
Foghorn: black velvet, heaven on a gurney. Timber collapsing under the weight of time. Sapling, swaying softly, green. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Jhankri in Battedanda
Fireflies and lightening, villages blinking like stars. All these flashes of light. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING