Poem – The Snow is too Damned White


The Snow is too Damned White

– William J. Gibson –

shovelling the snow

is a reminder of the deaths of January

both parents  went in this month

 

the snow is too damned white

the third and the nineteenth

are the days she died and he died

she four years after him

 

he walked out in the snow to get the newspaper

after fast shovelling the day before to make a walkway

for the public health nurse

 

she in the final coma in the hospital

her last words threatening  to punch a nurse in the nose

if she did not go get her husband

 

the snow is too damned white

to make up for the lack of sun

I am always glad to get out of January alive

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Poem – Apartment


Apartment

Their first apartment or was it the second.
Montreal in 1949.
My mother looks at the photo.
It is 1995. The outside shot
My sister stopped playing
To look at the camera.

“That’s where we moved to,” my mother says.
“We didn’t have two sticks
of furniture to rub together.”

I look at her eyes looking at the photo.
“A table and two chairs. A bed and the crib.”
Her head shakes. She does not smile.
Holds the photo album on her lap.
Her wheelchair rolled up
to the good light.

Poem – The Can’t Story


The Can’t Story

 

It has come up many times.

A traditional story like the one

About me giving away my big sister’s tricycle

When I was three to a boy who asked for it.

 

My sister taking

the Red Cross swimming lessons.

Taking the tests for lifeguard.

Crying in the water,

Saying she can’t.

My mother, the Swedish Viking woman,

The lumberjack’s daughter,

Standing on the balcony spectator level

Leaning over the rail and using

The Norse battle voice

Pushing her will

Over the rail

Through the air

To my sister

In the water.

 

“I don’t want to hear can’t.

You can.”

 

She did.