My Mother’s Ghost Knits a Scarf of Chain

Originally posted on O at the Edges:
? My Mother’s Ghost Knits a Scarf of Chain When I look up rust scabs flutter from your clicking needles, subsuming even the brightest link in this moon-drenched room. Communion’s possibility perished in that wicker basket, and we hold close our secrets, looped within circles, joined in these…

June 17: Mazurka

We are like storks in Mazury every year, returning our gaze to the heights allotted us; we are like mermaids and the Holy Mother watching over our own heart; we are broad and dark bold despite uncertainty like glacial lakes; and in us, let it be said that, epochally ancient light still dances. The Mazurka,…

Guest Post: Another Storm, by Ellen Kartz

Yet another morning after yet another rain, the alley shows the proof of last night’s storm— the puddles in the gravel, in the pavement’s recesses. Trees always look greener in the morning. They suffer the worst in storms, but somehow manage to recover—taller, stronger. It takes us longer to find our strength again. We get…

May 23: Heart

become accustomed to the weight memory lays across your heart lift it anyway become schooled in the crack and creak pain of rising one more time kneel anyway numb your skin to the lash every absence a thorn lean in somewhere in all this brush and scrub meaning and renewal send green tight curled leaves…

Rainwashed

rainwashed morning sky could last until dusk all low smooth silver and smoke elm queen shakes out her tresses daughter plum shyly offers a branch blue black asphalt path, too, shines here, the cedar fence there, willow trellis peonies contemplate sun to come reach leaves glow yellow, red, burgundy forecasting and remembering fall even here,…

Call and Response: a Flash Collaboration

say that you’ll light a fire at your going out into the night say that you’ll carry your bright orb of soul through the transit say that you’ll flow through the grey into rosen with gold in your wake say all this: but don’t speak, only colour the sky for a voice. All images by…

camping in search of bears

there was bear poop at the foot of the ravine just by the trail full of berry husks, intriguing to the dogs. there was a cougar on victoria park golf course just below downtown that could put a hole in one. there was a lynx at rest in the legislature grounds approving the shape of…

May 2: At First Light

at first, light shocks sound shining from leaf to leaf, and one upturned vessel of bright hope strawberry blossom born before may at first light, then darkening lines whirl describing thermals over the city, around again cranes and snow geese aloft, whistling to themselves a thousand thousand blossoms, wings, windows means of greeting the song….

Day 29: silence of violins

violins poised for the lift conductor’s baton there are birds in trees, and seas full of fish obedient night sings cellos tympanic moon on high this moment wakeful pray your small verse then listen for the One.   Today’s image courtesy of ADD on pixabay.com

Day 28: Could Have Been

once tropical this northern city once underwater this broad prairie once seasonal this could have been the way of it still we do not know all the words to this song. Edmonton’s Geological History  Today’s image from Norman Bosworth on pixabay.com

Day 22: Laconic Tonic

Don’t ‘at’ me any Earth Day bullshit, i’m in the garden: unless you have some skin to put in this game, shut up. If all you have is voice then tell me like a peasant only the poet bones of it. But better you bend your back to shovel lift these bricks, use knees. Kill…

Day 21: Distance Between

shard and treasure garden and rubble over and renewal peak oil crisis oil glut crisis new ice age crisis global warming crisis nuclear crisis viral crisis crisis of faith clarified vision shell crisis and fledging wind and harbour said and heard heard and accepted apprehend and comprehend curtain rise and fall over and renewal rubble…