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Archive for April 27th, 2009

Cloud sisters

Cloud Sisters

for Dawn

1. Growth Capacity

Some days we look the same,

depending on our hair:

blunt cut under the ears.

Dirty blonde, the dye gone.

We are older now. Have

filled our skins.

Have filled our lives with

others’ lives, and living.


2. Metabolism

Life’s a process that goes

on without you noticing.

Thank our chemicals. Why

I call or do not call

always comes down to energy.

If I were better I would save

up more for you. I burn it

not even knowing where it goes.


3. Reproduction

Have you noticed it’s not

just us in the room now?

The pink-cheeked child

is yours but could be mine.

Our parents are siblings

and are so unalike. They

seem like strangers.

What are we?


4. Adaptation to Environment

We are cloud sisters.

We pass, move, blow, cover.

The anaphase surprised us,

but we’re recovering well.

I think about you even when

I don’t call. The sky’s batting

keeps us together, full of

each other: woven; the same.


Jennica Harper is a Vancouver poet and screenwriter. Her collections include What It Feels Like for a Girl (Anvil Press, 2008) and The Octopus and Other Poems (Signature Editions, 2006). She wrote this poem for her lookalike cousin.

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AWAITING THE SUNRISE

A sun rising,

is the ray of hope in a new day.

A sun rising,

is the challenge of fights yet to be won.

A sun rising,

is the door shutting out yesterday.

A sun rising,

is the curtain opening out to the world.

A sun rising,

is the eye seeing into the heavens.

A sun rising,

is the forerunner of the day.

Hope soars,

when awaiting the sunrise.


Rose Busolo

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June Elegy

Major Street, Toronto

The yard that has room in its heart forgarden-sketch-12

one rosebush.

The yard with slim yellow irises.

The yard with gravel.

The yard with the wrought-iron fence,

box hedge; the gate snapping shut

like a changepurse. The yard pursed.

The yard with roses that have no thorns, none,

the smell of raspberry jam.

The yard with columbine and columbine and columbine.

The yard with thistle & crab grass spiking two feet into the air.

The one wistful with wisteria, drooping.

The one with forget-me-nots in a filmy ring, trimmed lilac,

tea roses hand-cuffed to a stake, about to bloom.

The yard with garbage cans.

The yard with tricycles.

With sunlight.

Trash.

The yard with snow-in-summer, honey locust,

star-of-Bethlehem, periwinkle,

in bloom.

Rhea Tregebov. Published in (alive): Selected and new poems. (Wolsak & Wynn, 2004)

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