The autumnal riot of colours begins
to fade and thin, while losses blossom.
The ghosts of neighbours open the doors
of demolished houses.
I move into winter with opening eyes
watching the leaves reveal the tree
that will die and be born again –
forming and fading and forming again.
Inspired, partially, by Trump
Bullies are blind to
they see the tenderhearted
as targets, used
to relieve their sense of angry fear,
to release their fearful anger –
used as their addictive catharsis.
Bullies are blind,
in their spewing of bile,
to the bruises they inflict,
constantly telling themselves stories
to create and increase excuses
for stoking their blind angers.
Bullies are blind to
how they are led;
they swallow concocted poisons
about others they fear would replace them,
about others they hope to destroy –
attacking these targeted others.
Bullies are blinded and fearful.
The crone arrives like an undesired lover
the shape of your body
Like an adolescent girl, you sense
unsought losses, unclear gifts.
You rage and sleep,
There are no fairy tales here,
no promise of princes and beautiful gowns
the crone’s belly
and a different cloak of invisibility.
In The Midst
There’s been an accident
at the intersection
near my parents
and they are overdue.
Their neighbour answers
the phone – a confused stranger
after her stroke –
and speaks of flashing red lights.
Their friend with cancer is hysterical
on the phone
with no one in the house
and no answers.
As I pick up my car
keys to search,
the phone rings:
It is my child’s school; there’s been an accident.
I woke in the night
and thought of you.
just this annoying scab,
I keep telling myself
your place in my heart.
If you are interested in how to teach writing effectively, you might be interested in my Labour Day post on another of my blogs – http://joanvinallcox.ca/40-years-teaching-college-composition/
You are reading
from the time and place
and I thought
holding these words –
first sliding in black
on a page,
through electric connections to a screen
and printing up,
through black tape,
in a rhythm
of line and page
and fold –
and, enveloped, travel
to be studied,
A bored stranger submits
through the finger ballet, to the machine that prints