Behind the buttercup bramble
\nThe pines stood tall and straight
\nThe crunch of cones underfoot
\nYellow puffs of pollen in the spring<\/p>\n
We climbed the trees sticky handed
\nFragrant sap gummed bark and sweat
\nClimbed with fierce determination
\nTil we could see over our row houses<\/p>\n
Til the super cut the lower branches
\nThen we climbed each other
\nReached higher heights still
\nHands free swaying in the breeze<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I. Pluck<\/p>\n
There were signs, maybe
\nIt\u2019s easier if you don\u2019t believe<\/p>\n
The countless times I gently
\nTwisted the stem of a red delicious<\/p>\n
Slowly reciting the alphabet
\nThen tugged at the right letter<\/p>\n
Daisies were scarce
\nWeeds abundant<\/p>\n
Dandelion petals plucked
\nOr pulled in impatient clumps<\/p>\n
She loves me, he loves me not
\nHe loves me, she loves me not<\/p>\n
Care must be taken where to begin
\nWithholding love or granting it<\/p>\n
II. The First Kiss<\/p>\n
We’d held hands all week
\nTeased secrets from the city
\nTalked about all the ways
\nWe’d conquer the world<\/p>\n
You were a tourist
\nI was falling in lust
\nYou with your tight shirts
\nEvery accidental touch electric<\/p>\n
I perched on the railing at the top of the CN Tower<\/p>\n
Mouth full of mint & self consciousness
\nMy gut clenched when you bounced on the glass floor
\nYou laughed & dragged me over<\/p>\n
Pulled me by my belt loops
\nPressed your body to mine
\nYou tasted like coke syrup
\n& I had no idea where to put my hands<\/p>\n
III. Limitless<\/p>\n
Like the rest of our generation
\nWe have piercings & tattoos<\/p>\n
My blue hair sets off your eyes
\nClear skies & an infinite future<\/p>\n
Jetpacks on the horizon<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
For ten minutes or forty-five
\nWe will queue until seated<\/p>\n
At tables that wobble
\nWorn but solid booths<\/p>\n
Check in on Facebook
\nPublic orgy of mastication<\/p>\n
There are more than fifteen ways
\nTo arrange dead animals on a plate<\/p>\n
Snap a photo for Instagram
\nIt is a beautiful thing<\/p>\n
Our bellies stretched with
\nFrench toast and real maple syrup<\/p>\n
Sausages, eggs, and milkshakes
\nOmelets, homefries, and pancakes<\/p>\n
Any remaining corners
\nTopped with bottomless coffee<\/p>\n
Don scarf and fedora and stalk it off
\nIn a few hours sushi<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The trees are bare, the sky a dazzling blue
\nTwo panting dogs push forward through the deep<\/p>\n
Every sound echoes clearing our path
\nBreaking the silence of the winter wood<\/p>\n
In snowshoes we float above the earth
\nSolid rock, fallen branches, warrens<\/p>\n
Away from the city each snow covered
\nLump might be home to a sleeping black bear<\/p>\n
Orange tags on a line of trees stake a claim
\nOne side indistinguishable from the other<\/p>\n
Ahead a boxed outline something man made
\nThe foundation of an old cabin<\/p>\n
My father lifts aside branches to show
\nThe slight impression where deer curled to sleep<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
for AM<\/i><\/p>\n
In the hush of winter
\nThe silence is almost perfect
\nWhite against white<\/p>\n
Hunched he waits
\nThen hops, one foot
\nTo another, impatient<\/p>\n
Hungry, he’ll take
\nWhat he can get
\nCarrion, even berries<\/p>\n
He’s wide-eyed and new
\nHandsome silver fur
\nGlittering in the half-light<\/p>\n
Paired, unwilling
\nTo survive
\nThe cold alone<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
& what would you [And what would you do ?]
\ndo with it if
\nyou found it<\/p>\n
a fragment turned
\ncoarse and rusted
\nstaining your hands<\/p>\n
glean what meaning
\nyou could from
\nits rough edges<\/p>\n
or would you
\nsmooth it down
\ntaper it to your<\/p>\n
own retelling
\nwould it change
\nyour life or mine<\/p>\n
anyway lies are more
\nfamiliar we’re better
\noff in the dark<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Behind the buttercups Behind the buttercup bramble The pines stood tall and straight The crunch of cones underfoot Yellow puffs of pollen in the spring We climbed the trees sticky handed Fragrant sap gummed bark and sweat Climbed with fierce determination Til we could see over our row houses Til […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":229,"menu_order":6,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-1422","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1422","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1422"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1422\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1993,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1422\/revisions\/1993"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/229"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1422"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}