the city is shit
dressed as a wintered rose,
but beneath its costumed coat
we can see the bones showing
like bleached, unstrung rocks
that could never have carried it –
and one would bury it in dust and ash
save for that one naked willow
that bends with the wind
in just the right way to make you cry
Month: October 2014
it’s all one
there was the sky
full and empty
and swinging,
pregnant in the eve,
losing the dying day,
birthing the morrow
all at once in beautiful madness
to the wonder
of the coming brilliance
rejected
Miyazawa sits rejected on the table beside me,
victim of the digital siren song
and the rocks it has drawn me to;
this is an age for stronger wills than mine,
minds less drunk on endless stories.
this is the age of fleet-footed Mercury
running wild to and fro with vacuous news
for the frothing, mindless addicts –
like me;
it is not a time for poets…
Not a Single Parent
I am not a single parent.
My mum was a single parent…I am not.
I am saying this because more and more I am hearing people say and/or intimate that they are now single parents since their divorce/separation/conscious uncoupling and I find it annoying because usually they are completely wrong.
My relationship with my children’s mum ended more than four years ago. We share joint custody. I have the kids one week, she has them another, and this arrangement has worked very well to do the best we can to not make a bad situation worse for the kids. It also works because we are in a small community.
So every other week I do not have kids and the following week I am the sole parent in the house…this does not make me a single parent. I am in regular communication with my children’s mum on weeks when I have them. We text and talk about gymnastics arrangements, school work, discipline, and the general well-being of the offspring. I am VERY thankful for this and for her role as my children’s mother.
I am not a single parent. There is someone else out there sharing the load.
Let me introduce you to a single parent.
My mum was divorced from my father when I was five. Prior to that he was rarely around, and generally he was a cheating, drunken, non-working, drug using and violently abusive person.
After the divorce he was just gone.
Oh we knew where he was…he never left the community, he just never came around anymore. He also never paid child support or alimony. He was invisible. He was not a father. He was not a parent.
My mum raised myself and three sisters essentially alone. On welfare. In provincial housing. With no parenting assistance and with all kinds of issues and struggles she was never helped with. She never drowned her sorrows in alcohol or drugs despite being surrounded by such abuse. She often went without so that we would not have to. She is my biggest hero.
That is a single parent.
I am not a single parent. I happen to be a parent who is single (like some people have friends who are girls/boys but are not girl/boyfriends…the distinction is small but important). Anyone in my circumstance is not a single parent.
The equation is quite simple: if there is another parent interacting with and helping to raise your kids…no matter where they are…you are not a single parent. Stop calling yourself one…it belittles the experiences of others who have been or are truly alone in the daunting task of rearing up human beings.
the eyes
a man keeps breathing
after his heart gave out
so long and so long ago,
and no one screams
at the dead in their midst
because to put on life
is the easiest trick in the world
only the eyes give it away
sirens
why so much a stranger
to the lives that live
before my dream eyes?
they are all sirens in the fog
calling like love to me
while i sail further away
share
i could write indelible words
with the india ink
from my black heart
that you might read
the deeper secrets
of a man who does not know
how to share himself
but the words,
they’d be written on night
and so hard to see
just as if they weren’t there…
but they are, they are
wrapt
in the fall
the light vanishes fast
and the dark rolls in
to sheath me all around
like a funeral wrap
wreathed tight to the chest –
i cannot move
dry
it has been dry
these days
with nothing
to parch
these baking
empty spaces –
white places
where you have to decide
between licking an envelope
or staying alive