Thursday, February 4, 2021

Junie Désil : Two poems

 

 

per-pandemic commutes

tune out the noise.
crowded anxiety inducing commute
weight of book too much

my tired hands eyes defiant
read blurred text

i’m not ready for progressives

my eye doctor sells me on some revolutionary
lenses designed with a subtle

power shift
should ease
the strain from reading screens
 

proving prescient now
Zoom is a verb virtual
cocktails the norm colleagues’ kids

(and racists) zoom bomb meetings

screen fatigue is real and capitalism sure knows how to
capitalize

i miss:
the pleasantries with the one who knew my name
the one who would beam extra

the one who would remind me to visit home one day
the one who remembered a kindness i forgot

as she clasped and held my hands on her way
to her graveyard shift
 

even   the crowded anxiety inducing commute
filled with conversations at times unwelcomed


compliments on my red-framed glasses

 

 

 

Write About these Black Bodies Again

we share skin and consequences
here i am on again about these Black people
another indignation caught

on camera   proof
          and not enough

anyway
i want to write about the birds trilling
outside the kitchen window   i imagine

an argument   spirited discussion
amongst sparrows   a bright yellow

bird i saw dip
          fly around the blackberry bush
 

how the smell of spring grass tickles my nose
i want to write about the things i don’t have
time to observe   write about

other than
          Black deaths

fragrances
remind me of easier times when
i could roll carefree in thick fresh cut green

grass   stubby blades pricking my back
as the blue sky spun out thick wool clouds

trees whispered and swayed in time to their lullabies
carried on hot prairie wind   dust and wheat
          acrid asphalt

petrichor

electric air swollen purple   orange skies
hairs on end at attention   high alert
drum rolling thunder   wait   weight
          heaviness

stay away from windows
unplug appliances
turn off the lights
 

after the fat drops land on baked
sidewalks and the percussive light show ends
go dance   wild abandon

while silver droplets ornament thick braids
sluice skin
          breathe


 

 

Junie Désil is a poet. Born of immigrant (Haitian) parents on the Traditional Territories of the Kanien’kehá:ka in the island known as Tiohtià:ke (Montréal), raised in Treaty 1 Territory (Winnipeg). Junie's debut poetry collection Eat Salt|Gaze at the Ocean published by TalonBooks is now available.