Three poems for Heather Spears

(1934-2021)

1.

Between fluidity,
attentive cells, an illustrated

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

of stillbirth. Bedside

vigils. Hand, hand,
fingers,

thumb. A blueprint for intimacy,
against a vast

seduced indifference.

 

2. 

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.

 

3.

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.