history

 we should carefully 

and wholly consider

who we choose to honour

who we praise and chisel into place

not that they did no big thing

but that

they may have done many in the dark

and they may not look 

so statuesque in the light

smells and their memories (1)

 

any small quebec town in july

salt fat air 

vinegar 

asphalt, sand, any in between

the sea and the sidewalk

cicadas humming 

or zambonis

trucks of kinds

ice cream 

logging

pickup

not my business

a simple thing

as small as a stick of gum

financially

in a field of flowers

and a single thought

grew into question

a thing too silent 

too heavy

to ignore

to handle

so one ran one way

the other stood still

and in between

they grew

scents of seasons

 

I.

march sometimes is muddying every shoe even if it might be shit 

but all dirt smells that way this month

it could be halloween

seagulls circle parking lots like cars looking for parking 

spots in the sky

march not yet april

windbreakers and damp pavement and then sun shoulders through 

birds and engines waking up 

at once

hastily preparing

running late for spring

II.

rain on hot june days 

leaves a smell tasting of old spoons

worms and a placid lake

water spiders skating over bass 

seaweed tickling their bellies

clay and the clams tucked in

the musk of soil and sand

basement floors

manhattan transit, 2009

 

no one breathed that month

 

the sirens starting

sound like a loon 

a wail over the water

crying in the dark

cherries blast 

the birds anticipate winds

of change and

pain alone 

flowers are a burden

to be thrown musty and sick

ripped epitaphs

sorry for your loss 

soil soggy stuck in muck

thank you

from a muddy mouth

coral brainwaves

my body anew

flutes of delicate stone

chiffon gowns pale

in the glow of organ pipes

a great slowing song we sing

chanting to the waves

undulated brass bones

ring ceremonial gongs

introducing summer seasons

abloom

flash buds

seem single in a blink

 full 

completely adorned

alive