Thursday, October 26, 2006


I have been finalizing preparations for a trek into poems...specifically, time at the Glenairely Retreat on Vancouver Island in November, under the tutelage and mentorship of Patrick Lane. I try to imagine this: three days reading and writing poems, walking on a beach, sitting by a fire. Someone else cooks the meals, someone listens to me read something that has come from immanence and hears my words as a reckoning. Narrative floats as though cloud could be mystic:

this week my husband brought home two boxes of turkish delight, one with nuts.
the ingredients say genuine. my mother asks what the flavour is, some subtle
something. mastic, he says, then in surprise: that's a gum I use to seal things.
i say, probably some tree with sticky sap.
sure enough, he looks it up. a relative of cashew
Mediterranean. i like them both but mostly like powdered sugar
inside boxes flat as old pencil cases. small sugar dumplings, chewier than
we remember. my father is diabetic so he & i share while others feast.
i think of all it takes to cook candy, wonder if these sweets are made
by women or men after running through forests near seas i have not seen.
he always finds the best treats.
beauty, tempting, from a far away tree.

Sunday, October 08, 2006


An American friend sent me a quote for our Canadian Thanksgiving this weekend. I offer it to you all as a worthy minute of your day.

Everywhere I go I find that a poet has been there before me.

--Sigmund Freud