CON VOIE MENT
pipes water shit
wires energy ground
souls wellness confession
cord name death
canal relations rites
babe character wake
thought christ cross
word breath blood
creation people love
a prayer
morning’s light barely registers
but with a turn of the wrist light
floods the room
the shock of emerging from
a comforting womb mitigated
by socks and a puffy coat
down the stairs where with four
pushes of a button a stream
of gas and flame warm the frames
of a home whose foundations
were set well before my parents
lived and well within the years of theirs
another button and water warms
another button and beans grind
another turn of the wrist and water pours
the warm elixir finds its mark as
words from an open Book call
and draw forth songs
for the heart melodies with
ancient rhythms lost in translation
but just as real today
Some go out
and some stay in.
The only connection
between us are
sun-bleached
sidewalks with
occasional
puddles.
What slender
grasp we had
on culture is
fading as
quickly as
snow in
Van
cou
ver.
there once was a commercial
that made my granny laugh
at odd moments she would re-enact
a short sniff, a long snnnnnniiiiiiffffff
a raised eyebrow
before declaring in a voice
with condescension dripping
“This pillow stinks!”
and then she would laugh
we all laughed too
until stretching out in bed
to realize, the stink, it’s here.
It’s my pillow too!
A chair with roots.
A monument to what?
No pride can reign
in those who occupy
its rings. So, all would
do well to sit here
quietly for a time.