We
find ourselves in the sea
Yearning
builds a nest deep. Holy white-washed bones curved. Soul smoothed white,
splayed grey feathers, joints unbound, released sockets. What is left of its
body on the page, imprint of flight, such tearing. Where the I was a column of
tiny bones, the cavity of voice. Notes have faded but we know them, syncopated
beats of wings shatter the earth like waves. Such searing sound: molto, sotto
voce, piannisimo. Fades to ground, a place for whatever we lose.
Missing
head, the arms that hold. Thought, the heart has flown.
We
are polished by holes. A stone flung at the body blasts grit of ground, salt
smoothes the contours. This is where I hide the secret everyone knows; gaps so
close to the surface, air can swift through, like whale blow holes from the
deep, grief washes our bones white. From the dark we rise for a breath of
water, light comes in the shape of words. There is a trunk that keeps you
growing, the branches reach out and out. May you come home with a smooth round
stone. You are as large as alone. *
* maggie and milly
and molly and may – e e cummings
Adrienne Fitzpatrick
grew up in the north and returned to complete her Masters in English at the
University of Northern British Columbia; her creative thesis won the John
Harris Prize for the best in Northern Fiction. Her fiction and poetry have
appeared in Prairie Fire, CV2, subTerrain, The New Quarterly
and Thimbleberry. Her art reviews have appeared in Border Crossings,
C magazine and Canadian Art. She explores the phenomenological
experience of place in her work and her first book, The Earth Remembers Everything is based on her experiences travelling to massacre sites in
Europe, Asia, the Central Interior and Northwest Coast of BC; it was also
short-listed for the 2014 George Ryga Award for Social Awareness in
Literature.
