Only shade
And tried many supermarkets but
Still no shadow
We told her she must be pure
And that an immaculate conception
Was a definite possibility, but
“What will happen if God comes?” she asked
“How will I know which way to look?”
Eventually, certain God could not see her
She married a man whose soul was
Like the underside of a log.
Then she was much happier.
When he was drinking his morning coffee
She had only to turn away
To look toward God.
*
Why are There Shadows? [Blossom]
some follow money
some follow angels
some, love
throw a coin, rich woman
give a blessing, holy lady
to that shadow
sitting on the courthouse steps
laughing at old photos.
*
Why are There Shadows? [Alf]
In the evening of his later years, Lazarus
Took to walking the olive groves
Outside Bethany
He said he liked to admire
The pattern the shadows made
On the warm ground.”
He himself had no shadow, you know.
His grandchildren teased him about this.
In the dusk, when the crickets began
To sing of eternity
He’d wait, sadly, on the old stone bridge
Watching the shades of everything
Fill up everyone else’s world.
*
Why are There Shadows? [Calhoun]
Oh, Lollie! The brighter the light
The darker the shadow, you know.
Come with me to the shady side of life
Bring whiskey and water, lilacs and worms
We'll toast our own deaths
Celebrate the pitter patter of forgotten years
Under the old stairs.
I'll put my hand inside your blouse
Feel your shadow heart.
We will watch the feet of glowing people go by
The saved soles gliding under heavenlight.
Bless them, all, every one
In this darkness we sit on old crossed planks
Laugh, play with nails
And dream of night.
****
Chapter 16: Why is Water?
It had rained all day, and the skies had gone from gray to black without a hint that somewhere on the planet there was sunshine, warmth, and drought.
Lollie draped her coat over a spare chair from another table. The other chairs contained raincoats from Cal, Alf, and Blossom, as well as an umbrella opened to dry. The poets were seated at the usual table.
"Late," Alf said. Blossom got up and made her way to the women's room.
"The bus went by. Almost empty. I waved, and the drive just ignored me."
"The damned of the planet," Cal said. "They can sense it, you know."
Lollie looked at Alf. He nodded. Bus drivers take special courses to sense damnation. The desperate, the poor, the freaks, they'll stop for, but they like to keep away from the cursed.
Lollie shook her head, and sat down, taking poems from her backpack. Then she got a napkin and wiped the mist off her glasses. "It's more crowded than usual tonight." There were at least fifteen other people in the room.
"Entertainment again." The dark of the moon had coincided with a Saturday night and, it seemed, the tavern owner's renewed drive to improve the atmosphere of his place. The little stage in the corner had a small amplifier, a big speaker, and a guitar resting on a stand.
"Arrived during the break, did I?"
Alf nodded, and was about to say something when water started dripping onto the table. At once the bartender arrived with a blue plastic bucket, which he placed in front of Cal.
"Shall we move?" Lollie asked.
"Can't see why." Alf indicated several other buckets around the room. "The water'd just hunt us down." He looked at Cal.
"It's like having a candle at your table, only with suitable adjustments for poets."
Lollie sighed. "We'd better do the poems before the band comes back on."
"Just a folksinger," Cal said. "Probably the boss's nephew or something. He's good, but I remember throwing a loonie into his guitar case a couple of days ago on Yonge."
Blossom returned, took in the situation, and said, "Idiots." But she sat down, then said, "Deal." She got the ace, and passed copies of her poem around the bucket.
Just after all four poets were done, the singer got back up on the stage, tuned his guitar, and started singing "The Water is Wide," as sad a song as any Lollie had heard.
*
Why is Water? [Blossom]
he took me fishing, once
perch, and light-dappled sunfish
i watched his method
he misled them with gifts
trapped them, dragged them in
dropped them flopping
into an old bucket
we were new
the air was clear, but
i was swimming in love.
*
Why is Water? [Calhoun]
Turn and dream
Turn again and dream
I would not deny you fire
But I can only give you water
Coursing in on rolling waves.
Don’t blame me
I am a gentle dying whale
Loving the sea
And you, a long-winged bird
On a sand beach, turning
Feeling air
On white feathers.
*
Why is Water? [Alf]
God strides the galaxy
To watch His handiwork
(Which He thinks is really good).
Sometimes he rolls a few comets
Inward towards a solar furnace
Always quick to admire the
Filigreed tail and the majesty of
Parabolas.
It has its hazards; sometimes
A planet is struck, and becomes infested
With hard-to-remove
Life.
*
Why is Water? [Lollie]
She found herself on the slippery
On the rocks so passionately embraced by green
Weed
The suck and spew of waves
Red markers for lobster pots, and beyond, the
Sea that refused to take her
She found an empty shampoo bottle
Pert, from Canada
It was her life, she thought
On the dry soil, she is a writer;
By the sea, she is a nun.
****
Chapter 17: What Medicine do I Need?
My father was the perfect mark. Anybody with any sort of con could spot him a mile away.
The amazing thing was, he was convinced he could see right through most con games, if he tried hard enough.
And you know, he could. It just took him a couple of tries. Then he'd get this big smile and you'd know he'd figured it out. But by that time he'd bought one or two of whatever they were selling. We had a basement full of stuff that was not worth buying, but he'd paid too much to actually throw it away.
Sometimes, when I was small, I wondered if Ma had conned him into marriage, or fathering me and my sisters. I sort of pictured him, ten years into marriage, suddenly waking up one morning and looking at Ma and shouting, "Ha! I just caught on!"
Not that it wasn't a happy marriage. Having been hoodwinked into marriage and kids and a house and a job with the city, he was always trying to see what Ma would fool him into doing next.
She loved him. She was always planning the next big trick. I truly believe she figured us kids were a series of jokes she'd played on her husband. Two of us were born on April first, you know, and I was within hou
rs of Halloween.
If Ma hadn't hung on three more hours, I'd have had to go round the neighbourhood every year and get my birthday presents in a bag. As it was, most of my presents for the first twelve years were leftover candies.
I was always listening to things, he said. My folks would take us kids for a walk in the forest, and I'd always trip, because I wanted to listen to see if pines made a different sound than spruces, or tamaracks. We had a fire on the beach, and I burnt one of my toes half off because I was walking around trying to figure the difference between the hiss of the fire and the hiss of the waves. Can you understand that?
I can remember the sound of hay in the barn when Paula Stannish and I first did it in the loft. I can't remember what she looked like, but I can remember the sound. I can't remember what she felt like, even. Just the sound. Do you remember sight or sound or touch best?
Maybe sound is the medicine I need, but I write mostly visual stuff. Don't want you people to think I'm strange, you know, sitting here listening to the sound of poets falling into doom.
*
What Medicine Do I Need? [Lollie]
Touch.
All the rest just keep the body alive.
*
What Medicine Do I Need? [Alf]
The fourth horseman offered me
A selection of fine Nazareth cheeses and
A flagon of God’s mercy
I sliced the cheeses but poured the liquid
Red as blood onto the soil of Palestine
From out the sand the dried hands of Judas
Clawed the brittle air a moment
Trying to catch a bit
I hope he found enough to wet his splintered lips
“He was my brother,” I told the tired horseman
Handing the jar back
“But
Please tell God we thank him for the cheeses.
*
What Medicine Do I Need? [Calhoun]
He was a purveyor of the sales of stars
The thin line of hope, the key
To the universe.
"Twenty minutes under a blanket with a blonde;
A few giggles, the slide of fingertips," I asked.
"I anoint you king of the planet," he said
Dribbling 5w20 onto my ears
You are masher of your soul
The chaplain of your feet."
"The back seat," I suggested, wrestling with
Zippers, her leg over the headrest
Our breaths fogging the windows."
"You are meant," he said, churning moons
"To distract the saints, not to rapture bimbos."
"I can do both, in sequence. I know I can." But
He was gone, leaving only a silver bullet
And a crown of blackbird feathers
Drifting on that endless river.
*
What Medicine Do I Need? [Blossom]
this morning I could not get warm
though I turned up the furnace
and wore a coat in the house
then I dug up the herb garden
sat on the porch, pretended I heard
a car door slamming
I'm no doctor: you tell me.
****
Chapter 18: What is the Meaning of Snow Accumulating on the Pavement?
"There is," said Alf, "something in the heart of the average Canadian that doesn't like snow." He swirled his glass of beer, added some salt to it from the shaker, and drank. "God knows, we're supposed to. God knows, so few of us actually do."
"You think so?" Blossom didn't really seem to care.
"I think so. I think we are forever strangers in this landscape, shadow-boxing the snowflakes, watching them fill old iron pots with ghosts."
"You men. Snow is always the end of the year to you. Have you ever thought maybe it's the beginning. Like a blank page somebody is going to write on?"
"Let's see your poem. I bet you see snow as endings, too."
"In a moment."
"There are other ways to look at snow," Lollie offered.
"Like what?"
"It covers things. It has a sense of purity."
"It's a shroud. A great awful cold damn shroud. What do you think?" He cracked his knuckles and looked at Cal.
"I think maybe you should buy the brightest blue scarf you can, and the brightest blue earmuffs, and a matching set of wool mitts, and don't worry if people wonder about your sexual orientation, you should wear them out in every snowstorm, till you become the saint of Station Street and people smile when you come by."
"That won't change the truth."
"The truth is amazingly malleable, you know. And you're going to die anyway; why not be martyred for the cause?"
Alf looked appealingly at Lollie.
"I'm with him," she said. "I like to sit inside, my hands around a cup of coffee, a good book in front of me, and watch the snow fall."
"If," Alf said, "it falls gently. If it falls in big clumps. Not if it howls around the buildings like it's looking for you."
"Especially," said Lollie, "if I think it's come looking for me."
*
What is the Meaning of Snow Accumulating on the Pavement? [Calhoun]
Bless the poor in spirit
Who have nothing to look forward to but
Snow
And the cold stares of strangers
I walked till my feet were sore knowing
That I could only walk to China
Before I ran out of room
And had to start back home
It snows in China, too
There was nothing to go home to
So I went home
Sat in a chair by the window
Drank milk, and watched snow
Drift by the streetlight
Strangers shuffle by, leaving
A bit of pain.
When I was warm again, I put my coat on
And went outside
Looking for the cold blessing
Of snow, of strangers.
*
What is the Meaning of Snow Accumulating on the Pavement? [Lollie]
The world becomes ripe with possibility
There are pubs with beer and guitars
Preserved pears, and
New cookies
When you see frost flowers
Look outside
All the shadows
Have vanished in
Steady flakes
If you are a writer, your words on paper
Are your footprints on
The snow-covered pavement
Leading into the arctic fog
Look again, writer
There are always bear paw prints
On top of yours
*
What is the Meaning of Snow Accumulating on the Pavement? [Alf]
To everything, there is a season
A time to be born
A time to think about seasons
A time to cry.
*
What is the Meaning of Snow Accumulating on the Pavement? [Blossom]
there is a strange quiet beauty
to an ending
there's Sinatra on the fm station
I have a pumpkin pie, all to myself
out there, god pulls a fine white cloth
over yesterday
****
Chapter 19: How Can I Become Rich?
"We are rich," Alf said. "We have a whole universe around us, and the sun above and the beauty of the robins on the lawns in the mornings." He spread his arms expansively.
"I guess I can stop buying lottery tickets," Blossom observed, sucking another Diet Pepsi dry. "I'll try paying for this drink with maple leaves."
"I think," Cal said, quietly, "that wealth is relative." The others raised their eyebrows. Lollie looked over the tops of her glasses. "I mean," he added, shuffling uncomfortably in his chair," that wealth is mostly in our minds."
"Great," said Blossom. "I'll see if the bartender will take a happy thought as payment for a beer for you. If I can find one."
"Depressed?" Cal asked her.
"I just think you're full of shit, as usual."
Cal smiled, but Blossom went on. "I actually like your poetry. I've got your 'Why is Water' tacked to my fridge door. But I think you're a fraud most of the time. I know happy poor people, but I'm not one of them. I'm a pissed-off, down and depressed, angry at the universe poor person."
"You think money would solve your problems?" Alf shuffled his long body in his chair and took a big drink of beer.
"You know," Blossom leaned fiercely over the table at him. " I don't think it would solve all my problems, but it would certainly make a dent in a hell of a lot of them."
Lollie raised her glass over the middle of the table. "To wealth, especially in large dollar amounts." The others hesitated, then followed in the toast.
Lollie looked at Alf, then Cal. "I thought you two liked less tangible forms of wealth."
"We lied." Alf smiled.
"Damn right." Cal waved at the bartender for another beer. "We're poets, after all."
Lollie laughed, for the first time in weeks. "Poetry is bullshit?"
"Look at the poems we brought today," Alf said. "A few of us, I think, are, ah, being a little, shall I say, narrow in our definition of 'rich.'"
"Nonsense," said Lollie. "Three of the poems will be perfectly accurate if we just add 'and pick six good numbers for next week's lottery' to the bottom of the page."
*
How Can I Become Rich? [Alf]
We came to the sunlight
Lay down in the snow
Chafed in love
The pine tree above
Whispered all we should know
You showed me the warm
Deep in the flakes
Fire in my lungs
I was speaking in tongues
God knows, that's what it takes
And there in the sunshine
In immaculate snow
I learned in the field
Calmly to yield
To fire, to secrets, to flow
To sunlight and
Immaculate snow.
*
How Can I Become Rich? [Blossom]
the sound of returning geese high overhead
the April rains that call tulips from cold earth
a kitten, almost too young for love, in my warm hand.
*
How Can I Become Rich? [Calhoun]
In the crystalline minutes before midnight