Friday, January 14, 2022

Three poems for Heather Spears



Between fluidity,
attentive cells, an illustrated

pantomime. She captured medical standards, poetry
readings, courtroom action. The face

of stillbirth. Bedside

vigils. Hand, hand,

thumb. A blueprint for intimacy,
against a vast

seduced indifference.



Such papery fields: the animation
of a poetry panel, gestures

behind the open window. This filament of lines
our only access. An elusive quality,

from which there is only memory.



My mis-pronounce of Van Gogh, responding
with her pulsing Khokh, hard-pressed

the guttural Dutch. She rolled
her eyes. She

savoured, stared. She handed
me my portrait. Here.




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