Nearing the end of June

Beholding at the Sunrise from the Top of Haleakalā

Set your alarm for 3am to catch the bus; hang on as
the road up is narrow and bumpy.

Wear a warm coat and mitts; it’s cold at 3000 meters.
(Don’t be that fool in shorts.)

Listen as the elder shouts at the sky in Hawaiian,
welcoming the new day and wishing us all good fortune.

Remember to bring a charger for your phone
as you’ll be capturing hundreds of photos.

Shadows creep slowly over the ocean and climb
Haleakalā as the crowd, speechless, sighs.

From the golden orb breaking the horizon until
the long shadow of the volcano grows over the valley,

we welcome this day as if witnessed for the first time and
it just gets better and warmer and more perfect.


© June 2020

Four Ways of Looking at the Totem Pole at the Royal BC Museum

The Thunderbird, it is said, takes human form by opening
his head up like a mask and taking his feathers off as if a blanket.

Self-contained and strong-willed in nature, the grizzly bear
holds copper to show off his wealth. He gets by with few friends.

The beaver teaches us to be persistent and to use what’s around us,
to value each team member and work towards harmony.

Dzunukwa, with red pursed lips, wants to steal the children to eat
so keep them safe and far away. When she appears, the show is over.


© June 2020

Another selection of thoughts

Long Beach, Vancouver Island

On the ancestoral lands of the Tla-o-qui-aht First Nations

After the long drive across the island
through Cathedral Grove, turn north
at the Pacific Rim National Park Reserve sign,
and drive about 15 kilometers on a passable road,
past groups of tsunami placards along Highway 4
to arrive at the open sandy Long Beach.
As the sun slides over the Clayoquot Plateau,
an almost empty broad shore invites outsiders
to behold perfection along with surfers heading out
to be swept back in by the heavy autumn waves
of the mighty Pacific. In another month,
every swell will be filled by daredevils
from all over, though maybe this year
there won’t be as many or they’ll try to
keep apart, or just sit on the beached driftwood
that have rested on the beach for decades, to become
hypothesized with those returning waves,
inching closer and closer to Purple Shore crabs
running the beach trail for food or
protection by Incinerator Rock’s crevices.
As sunset colours the clouds red indigo blue
to the west, the howl of the sea wolves
tells you it is time to go inside.
his-shuk-nish-tas-waak*


© June 2020

*everything is one

Glenn Gould Sitting on a Bench

Eighty
eight keys,
no hint at a bench in Hogtown
only a recluse with a wool
beret

© June 2020

Your Death Hit Me Hard

though somewhat delayed. Four years later, my insomnia started.
My doctor prescribed sleeping pills, but I stopped after six months,
because I got addicted and afraid. Finally, I went to psychiatrist,
who got me to breathe and relax and I learned that I cannot change
everything. Now I do yoga every day and walk and geocache (it’s a long story).
I wish you were here so I could tell you that I forgive you for not telling me and
I’ll love you always. Your no-longer-obedient but ever-braver daughter.

© June 2020

Words that need to be said

Forty-Five 

It’s change that scares you
so you lass out
and call the National Guard

It’s a world your parents
wouldn’t know
that makes you shake

and yell, and stomp
your feet like a 2-year old
who’s been told you can’t.

It’s a fear of failing,
looking stupid, having
people laugh at you

that drives you to erupt
and bully those who
only want to breathe.


© June 2020

A remembrance of Vancouver Island

Long Beach, Vancouver Island

On the ancestoral lands of the Tla-o-qui-aht First Nations

After the long drive across the island
through Cathedral Grove, turn north
at the Pacific Rim National Park Reserve sign,
and drive about 15 kilometers on a passable road,
past groups of tsunami placards along Highway 4
to arrive at the open sandy Long Beach.
As the sun slides over the Clayoquot Plateau,
an almost empty broad shore invites outsiders
to behold perfection along with surfers heading out
to be swept back in by the heavy autumn waves
of the mighty Pacific. In another month,
every swell will be filled by daredevils
from all over, though maybe this year
there won’t be as many or they’ll try to
keep apart, or just sit on the beached driftwood
that have rested on the beach for decades, to become
hypothesized with those returning waves,
inching closer and closer to Purple Shore crabs
running the beach trail for food or
protection by Incinerator Rock’s crevices.
As sunset colours the clouds red indigo blue
to the west, the howl of the sea wolves
tells you it is time to go inside.
his-shuk-nish-tas-waak


© June 2020

Sunday afternoon thoughts

Hung Out To Dry

Upon the clothesline
hang the whispers
of tomorrow’s hope,
the bedsheets from
the bed half-empty
interspersed with
graphic Ts and memories
of last August when we
walked the trails through
Prince Edward Island, and
fears that the world has
changed too much and
what we now take off
the line was not ours
to beginning with.



© May 2020

Mother's Day 2020

As always I think of my mother who passed away in 2006. And I wrote this for her.

Oh, Hello Mother 

For Mother’s Day 2020

It’s good you are not here
for you would worry. You’d call me
every day
to ask me how I am and
if the girls were fine and
if grocery store was busy and
what was out of stock. You’d call me
every day
to make sure I was eating well and ask
when was Garry was coming home again and
if I’d seen the news about the prices going up and
what we had for dinner. You’d call me
every day
to tell me what movie you’d watched and
who you’d played cribbage with and
how you enjoyed the visit to the gardens to
see the tulips and rhododendrons in bloom. You’d call me
every day
because you’re bored,
because you’re anxious,
because it’s all too much for you to handle.
It’s good you are not here to worry.


© May 2020

Every day writing is over but missed

April is over, but still the need to write every day is there. Like an addiction to slot machines or sleeping pills, but a much healthier desire. So is today's deposit.

The Peacock Blue Cashmere Sweater

that you bought me for Christmas still lies in the drawer where I put it on the 28th of December. I should have told you when I opened the beautifully wrapped gift from Sax Fifth Avenue that I find cashmere itchy, but I couldn’t, not with Mother there beaming with joy that all her family had flown to Vancouver this year. She would have made me feel guilty like she always does. I opened the drawer just this morning to get something warm to wear while I walk along the seawall with Uncle Bob and his dog Archie and saw it there grinning at me like the Cheshire Cat. Then I knew I had to write you and tell you the truth. We could never keep secrets from each other, could we? No, I don’t want to exchange or return it, because the colour reminds me of that painting we saw at the National Gallery when I visited you last August. Remember we sat on the room bench for hours and just stared at Christopher Pratt’s Newfoundland landscapes. Was that why you bought me such an expensive cashmere sweater? Then I’ll just drape it over my shoulders when I get cold and think back to that warm, sunny day we walked to Byward Market for tea and cakes and we talked about hopes and dreams, and reality.

© April 2020