Thirteen ways of looking (in-progress,

 

, after RobertKroetsch

 

1.

A blackbird, thus. A lemon.Glacier. A mass of scatter, heart. The scent of that, green. Christine fillsthe sunroom with tomatoes, garlic, sunflower seeds. She pulls at the lettuce. Isit the distance that separates. Rose, mutters. Underneath her breath. Christine’spotted lemon tree. A bale of straw in the trunk of the car. For the garlic, shesays. To plant the garlic.

You hear the sun. Whenlight is not your friend. This bite, is melancholy.

When they have senses. Anotherwheelbarrow of dirt. Another broken wheelbarrow. Rhythm: an elusive quality. Whattwo are opposite. The children walk on sound.

The differences of smallhands. The differences of hands, without which there is no poem.

I have an abidinginterest. My father carried around such years. His father, before him.

 

2.

Whether,red. These green tomatoes: a double reference. Whenever speech an act.

AsI continue to expand. What I could not, for the writing of it.

Howthis is not my book.

 

3.

Thisblackbird, lemon. As I wander, thoughts. A frame supports the language.

Christineprepares the garden. She separates out, what is familiar. I haul out awheelbarrow of topsoil. I haul out a wheelbarrow of topsoil. I haul out awheelbarrow of topsoil. A cubic yard. I empty the bag from our driveway.

Togarden, which might be a form of translation. Aoife, her twice-weekly Germanclass. She responds to her sister: nein.

Someoneis chewing a bone in my rib cage. Aurora Borealis. What memory is.

CraigSantos Perez: It was summer all winter. What we know, for the writing of it. Forthe looking.

 

4.

Asheer of frost. The morning, withers. Children vacillate: breakfast, clothes.

Morning:the first and last daily capture during which I self-orient. A form, we lack. Scribblenotes in my notebook, this notepad, this postcard. Even the dishwasher grumbles.

Forestschool: Aoife names her newly-acquired stick “red crayon.” Once home, shemarkers the point black, not red. Is this not a pipe.

Letus skip across categories, the ideal situation. An ordinary day, persists. The lovesongs of Nancy Sinatra, Lizzo. Everyone on television has such good teeth.

Ihave lost my ability to count.

 

5.

Ifsomeone asked me: How are sketches shaped? How is a lemon? How might an hour?

Theyoung ladies’ e-learnings present themselves in packets. One ninety-minutesession. A wee break, there.

Onemoves beyond the iron element.

Christineleft the house today at 9am. She will return around dinnertime. One thought leadingdirectly and immediately into another. With a clean edge.

Myflippant response to a Twitter question: What prompts you to write?

I answered: Fear of death.

(October 2021-