Wow, April 26th already. When I began this I was in Mexico and I wasn't at all sure I'd make it through the month. But so far, so good.
This just in from Glo/NaPoWriMo: "we’d like to challenge you to write a poem that includes images that engage all five senses. Try to be as concrete and exact as possible with the “feel” of what the poem invites the reader to see, smell, touch, taste and hear."
Toronto's on my mind.
I love that city, even though I never want to live in such a big one ever again. I lived there for eight years. I fell in love in it. My son was born there. When I left, it tore me apart.
I love my country life now, my back to my roots, my family that's mostly here, my husband who I'd never have met had I not come back. But I still miss my Toronto friends, a couple of whom I called the second I heard, and as is the case with proper friends, even though we hadn't spoken in ages it was like no time had passed at all.
Toronto's in mourning, and so am I.
|Photo by Linda Crosfield, taken during a fabulously long walk with my friend Alan in 2014|
Toronto's in Mourning
She's mourning the scatter of crushed bags of groceries,
for crackers and cheeses and chocolate and lettuce,
the citrus-fuelled scent of oranges bought
to be peeled into segments of sweetness for lunch.
She's mourning the bitter salt tears in the mouths
of those left to pick up the sunglasses, take-outs,
the backpacks, the paperbacks, iPhones and headscarves,
the briefcases, strollers, the coffees, the bikes.
She's mourning the bouquet of sweet-smelling flowers
meant to bring beauty to somebody's kitchen.
She's mourning the silence that's broken by sirens,
she's mourning the bystanders trying to help.
She's mourning survivors whose lives have been shattered.
She's mourning the hand closing somebody's eyes.
She's mourning the shoes that are waiting forever
for feet that will never return.