The Fog has sunk
into My Left Shoulder
–I can’t do The Laundry–
–I shouldn’t even be writing–
Peak & Eliza have gone to Lunenburg
with Their Father & His Family
My Day Is Grey
but I’m OK–
isn’t that awful?
The Dishwasher is running again
& My Son Peter is with Me
from Montreal via Alberta
He’s a Tree-planting Crew Boss
finished with work for The Summer
now readying for school
in The Fall
The Fog Should Be Gone By Then
I am Singing The Praises
of being Peak’s Mother
& have just opened The Dishwasher Door
as It went on The Dry Cycle
When I was 17
I deliberately lost My Virginity
to a French Brooklyn Jew Drug Dealer
–He was 27–
So tonight I’m making home made Pizza
for Eliza & Her First Serious Boyfriend
Who’s just been met
in Port Clyde
by Father, Aunt & Uncle
& Grandparents
& after the Pizza
They’re driving to Yarmouth
to watch “Campaign”
while I run the Dishwasher
I HAVE POLISHED MY SILVER TORCH
Join Me In My Fundamental Guidance
–Yes, There Is God
No, We Are Not Dying–
We are Self Organizing
re-distributing Our Wealth
in All Forms:
Our Wealth of Individuality
Our Wealth of Spirituality
Our Wealth of Divine Intelligence
& Our Every-day Intelligence
We are going somewhere
& that Place is
The Here & Now
–
Join Me In My Fundamental Guidance
–You need not be “saved”
You, We, Need To Be Applauded–
Applaud Us, Ourselves
We Are The Ones Who Are Praise-worthy
God is Our Audience
Yet God is Our Substance
Our Flesh & Blood
Our Brains
Our Mind
The Silver Torch Is Lit
for Us
The Inseparable
My Husband/Doctor tells Me
The Sound of The Waves
works on The Pleasure Centres
of My Brain
like a narcotic, like opium
or nicotine or cocaine
& I say The Sound relaxes & invigorates–
I am addicted to The Surf–
It crept up on Me
over the course of these two years
& I never knew I could be so healthy
Just as I was gauging My Happiness Quotient
I mangled a spider
in the laundry line wheel–
before resuming My Favourite Chore
I had to leave My Deck
to get a tissue
to sop up the yellow blob
of That Instant
“Here’s The Little Man, way up here deep in the forest.
He’s feeling his way out. He’s looking around.”
“Make him come out.”
“Now The Little Man’s on the edge of a steep cliff–”
“I can see him.”
“Quick– He slides down the cliff– swoop!
He jumps over the next bump to find himself
on padded ground.”
“I see The Little Man, Pappy!”
“The Little Man walks ahead to his little ledge–
He puts one foot in either track– he looks around
and bends his knees and looks to the right
and then to the left.”
“Does he see me?”
“The Little Man looks over
the edge of an even steeper cliff–”
“Does he see me?”
“The Little Man sees a little girl named L’il Bits Boogen
waaay down at the bottom of the cliff.”
“Pappy– make him fly!”
“The Little Man’s looking down–”
“Jump!”
“He’s looking around–”
“He’s gonna fly!”
“The Little Man’s thinking of flying, any second–”
“Make him fly!”
“He’s testing the wind.”
“Make him jump!”
“He’s thinking of jumping–”
“JUMP!”
“Jump! The Little Man’s flying down to Boogie! Weeeee!”
“Weeeeee!”
Locked in The Cradle of Security
with Dr Blair’s soothing Right Hand
along My Left Forearm
My Window is open to The Shush of Southerly Waves
My Insides digest a pill of Olanzapine
& I Am Set Free
to Go To Sleep
I spy a stalwart Robin
perched on My Neighbour’s Laundry Pole
–
I watch awhile
until She flies
down to the grass
& there goes My Poem
–
Oh My God — She’s Back!
–
I forgot The Fog–
The Fog is wafting past Her
The Hedge is rustling below Her–
–
Oh, There She Goes–
