poetry

 

Flat One, 6am (from Where, the Mile End – Julie Morrissy)

do those moments belong 
to someplace else               somebody else
a giggle I don’t recognize
a dance I’ve never seen
skin against a door
a split second stirred

half thoughts                                               

half words

half smiles

hang in air I can’t touch

air within––

cool blue surrounds a kitchen counter
at unexpected corners, my eyes cry
the sting of smooth leather

that counter

that counter

asserts itself, resolute
a boat in a basement
the roll and pitch of bodies

some days I turn the corner
at Bathurst and Ulster, fall flat on my knees
palms smack sidewalk

pop