remind me who I am

remind me who I am

remind me who I am

without the edges

of my life

without the random encounters

bumped shoulders

banalities, apologies

face-to-face chance meetings

found in the city

surrounded by the buzz of human energy

remind me who I am

without the legroom

of nature

where the delicate flower

can heal the wounds

that isolation opened

expanded, left unprocessed

how do I feel without


anticipatory joy

the capacity to grieve

who am I

do I matter

in this moment

hour, day, year

of adjourned life

remind me who we are

behind the mask

the shuttered storefronts

hollow corridors

behind the automated, portentous doorways of hospitals

behind the windshields of trucks feeding a nation

behind the plexiglass

behind our fear

remind me who I am

use words plucked out of the air

for I can no longer


touch the page

inspired by Touch Me by Stanley Kunitz



there’s an eagle and a tree
on a card
on my desk
I keep it because
the eagle is strength
to say those words out loud
I keep it because
the tree is nature
with deep roots that
ground me
in those moments
I want to escape
from the candor
on the page
I keep it because
it came from a place
of embodied creativity
I want to capture the artist’s
dedication to her craft
bottle it and take a sip
each morning when I sit to write
or during the dark night
when the questions surface
why make the effort?
who hears the whispers in the wind?
I keep it because
it speaks to the loneliness
of putting words into
the hollow

thank you to Firefly Creative Writing for the prompt and Alana Hansen for the beautiful work of art adorning my desk

black cloud, 2020

black cloud, 2020

A couple weeks ago I submitted a poem to The Power Plant Contemporary Art Museum’s Power of the Poets contest. The idea was to write based on an artist’s work. I chose Black Cloud by Carlos Amorales and wrote from the duality of this view of his work and our current state of isolation.

Though not successful I was happy to throw my net for writing a bit wider.

black cloud, 2020

marked by distress

tinted by expectation

out there, life
altered, wounded, flaccid

in here, swarmed
shadows, panic, death

streaked with approximations

shaded with suspicion

out there, anticipating
next week, month, year

in here, trembling
dismay, agitation, loss

mixed with intrigue

mingled with reprieve

out, potential

in, subsistence

when this is over

when this is over

when this is over

I want to walk

city streets

maintain social distance

from steel and concrete

see the sun gleam

off skyscraper windows

seek shade

in graffitied alleys

I want to feel

the energy of people

coming from everywhere

going to somewhere

the man carrying

a briefcase

in a rush to return to the world

who, long ago

spent hours with his tailor

getting the cut of his suit

just right

when this is over

I want to buy lunch

at a food court

where people will

line up on

red circles for safety

I want to walk up

a broad avenue

past all the healing houses

see families clustered

at entrances

into those places

filled with people

who embraced all our fears

while living with

their own

when this is over

I want to pass by

the hot dog vendor’s cart

smell street meat

catch some banter

between purveyor

and customer

discussions of the particulars

of orders

when this is over

I want to sit under

a bamboo canopy

with my son and talk

about anything but

a virus that

shut down the world

when this is over

I want to walk along

a long street

and be grateful

when I stop

at a cafe for

some baked goods

and a yellow latte

full of warmth and


when this is over

I want to walk

through the park

to be in nature

the kind that you only

find in the city

I’ll hear a mom

tell her child

it’s okay, the swing

is safe

and I’ll send her strength


being a mom

will be fraught with more

than the usual fears

when this is over

I want to walk into

a favourite bookstore

browse the shelves

touching only

with my eyes

and I will leave

my digital signature

when I find a hardcover friend

to broaden my understanding

when this is over

I want to hear a child


and I’ll sing their song

all the way home

when this is over

I want to get on the train

and hear people

talking too loudly

on the upper levels

even though it’s

rush hour

and we’re all meant to

be quiet

no one will mind

we will all be grateful

when this is over

we all want

to hear people

smell nourishment

feel the energy

of the city

and be patient

as we embrace

the new ways

of life