The Empty Tarmac of a Long-Abandoned Airport:
23 Canoe Poems about Separation
By Lenny Everson
rev 1
Copyright Lenny Everson 2011
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Cover design by Lenny Everson
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List of Poems
When the Words Stopped
Don’t Wait Too Long
The Quarry
But He’s a Good Boy Anyway
How do Souls Become Lost?
How do People Become Separated?
Does God Care?
Why is the Church Silent?
When is it Funny to be a Slave?
Ashes
What Must We Never Let the World Forget?
By the Red River
Taking a Trip to the Past
Cages for Women
Should a Bed Have a Zipper?
Should a Bed Have a Zipper?
What Should We Throw Away?
What is Wealth?
If I Have a New Home Can I Eat My Ceriel on a TV Tray?
Unfinished Poem
Asking for Better Hues
Bulletin Board
Here is the Loose End
About the Poems
Dedication:
To all those for whom the future has become more important than the past.
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When the Words Stopped
(When a relationship is in trouble, the words get fewer. When the words stop, someone’s packing a suitcase.)
When the words stopped
My world became the empty tarmac
Of a long-abandoned airport
The hangars leaning
A paper coffee cup from yesterday’s traffic
Blowing by.
To be left in silence
Is a violence of emptiness
A world without words
For me
Is the sun going down
The gray dusk washing in.
I was born the biological entity
Of companionship
Needing touch occasionally, and
Always
Kind words.
When the words stopped
The cold and distant stars
Took vengeance against
This woman
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Don’t Wait Too Long
(Sometimes, the ticking clock affects a person’s dreams. it’s a sign – don’t wait.)
I didn’t know what to do when
That indigo train came hurtling
Out of the darkness
Of my dream
Again
I woke to the feel of iron
Pounding granite. I guess
Somedays I am white, feet crushing granite
Someday I may be brown, becoming an eagle
The shaking was only my heart
Fran, distant friend
Died last week.
Elizabeth, cousin,
Has arthritis, real bad
I saw a Grosbeak in summer
Wrong place, bird
You should be up north
In the silence of tamarack
Every now and again
I see that train at night
Running down a maverick moose
On a lonely track
Among the poplars
Always poplars
The moonlight on its flanks
The train always dark
As the grave.
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The Quarry
(Sometimes, the one you’ve lost is yourself.))
Soft and wide in the morning
the nets go out
as fine as
spiderwebs
Hung from limb
tied to tree
staked deep and looped round
solid granite rock
they cover the road
where night meets day
Out of a night
of angel flights
the quarry comes
to seek the daily
sunshine husk
And nights and lights
and Barbie dolls
years and fears
pale pink walls
woven into
finest mesh
It happens quite often like this
After the escape, the net
must be woven again
finer yet
Last night I remembered a birthday party
when I was twelve.
This was added
to tighten the mesh
In the morning light
with nets drawn tight
once again
I wait for me.
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