When I woke up this morning, there were millions of fluffy snowflakes falling gently everywhere outside my living room window. In the grey light of morning, the world looked monochromatic behind the falling snow, and I felt that I was witness to a black and white photograph in the moment before it pulls itself into place. On my walk to the bus stop, flakes tickled my forehead and melted in puddles and made rainbows on the lenses of my glasses, and I felt more alive feeling the world touching me softly for once. A pool of water shared the perfect, glassy reflection of a bird. Down he was swimming, up he was flying, and across the street from my stop a group of welders shot hot orange sparks six feet into the air, throwing a bright draw of colour across a study of shadow and light. I wanted to pin it all down like a lepidopterist’s butterflies.
P. K. Page – Canadian poet
She is much too beautiful to let sit in some image file somewhere in the dark. I want to learn to hold my face that calmly and softly while still looking so powerful, but I think this is something that takes years to perfect accidentally. Here is an excerpt from her poem “After Rain”:
And choir me too to keep my heart a size
larger than seeing, unseduced by each
bright glimpse of beauty striking like a bell,
so that the whole may toll,
its meaning shine
clear of the myriad images that still-
do what I will-encumber its pure line.
I ran into an acquaintance in the hall at work yesterday. I was running mail and pamphlets and vests around to different offices, and he was putting up stickers all over that said “ON NOW”. We chatted awkwardly as we always do, which is perfectly fine, because we have both acknowledged our mutual awkwardness and that we both tend to be awkward anyway with most people. This makes me like him as I would a small piece of chocolate found in an old coat pocket – a pleasant surprise that you don’t know if you should eat but delight in finding. We fumbled our way on to a conversation about mindless jobs being the best jobs, because they let your thoughts roam more freely. He told me that he had a mindless job stuffing envelopes a year ago, and he discovered so many childhood memories that had never surfaced before. At just such a job, I once remembered rolling down a hill in a bright Hawaiian dress my grandmother gave me and imagining myself turned into a bright profusion of flowers by the chaos of my tumbling. Useless, really, but much better than fussing over the importance of “branding” your organization or the wording of interoffice memos.
Have I lost you yet? No? Good.
I’m going out tonight to wish a friend well who is moving out of this town to take a job in another city. I really shouldn’t be going anywhere, because I am nearly impecunious and in dire need of more funds than I have even now, but I plan on spending some of it, because damn it, I deserve it after the incidents and accidents of this week. The man behind New World Disorder asked me to come out, which was brilliant on his part, because otherwise my plan was to sit at home eating buttered noodles and writing crap poetry. Ew. That is nobody’s version of a decent Friday night in any way, shape, or form.
Before I head off into what is OH MY GOD an already nearly dark evening at only 6:30 pm, I give you this poem. It was written to the tune of “Roll Out the Barrel”, and if you sing it to me over the telephone, I will come to your house and cook you the best goddamn hashbrowns you ever did eat. Except that I won’t, because I am so kidding. And don’t call me singing it thinking you’re being funny, either, because I gave it a shot, and it is atrocious.
I am not brave
This territory I circumnavigate
is negative space
It is no place
and I circle and circle
like an old shark
who's lost her teeth