Read an Excerpt
ENCOUNTER
Would you take a look at this
sweat held together
by dream -- the twined
frays of memory & history
twist of language and the form
a breath endures when you wake up
shaken, the fist
of trauma inches from
the hand of the word that would
submerge the Big Idea
in bathwater
when the adults’ argument
drifts apart
a wah-wah trombone
ear canal awash with whoosh of escape
or come back
to the hum of today
where you could almost feel
what he feels, on the neighbour’s porch
scrolling through his phone
checking for updates
on someone else’s disaster
would you wait on the shore
a minute
passing just like my minute
your sea my sea
there are many names for the ocean
where so many swim
frantic to reach the classroom
to take the test
teach the class
find the almost-forgotten child
your anxiety my anxiety
unclimbable towers
fall in a dream
and all structure
burns as memories
burn into sinew
your sinew
my throat
drift apart
particular flotsam fills
our drowned lungs
but none of it happened
the way I remembered
the moment I woke up
exhaling the dream
into your air
MILK NIGHTMARE
Night training: a babe becomes accustomed
to the soothing taste of absence.
That same child grows up
and chooses a safe word: milk.
*
I say, We need milk. Everyone agrees
to my duplicity. I pantomime mouthfuls
of emptiness, one hand on the doorknob.
*
Need seems like the only memory
when it is present. First driving need,
then flat-out more. Hauled
to the brink of nightmare
conclusion, counting seconds.
Need. Need. Need.
Need. Need.
*
Need more.
*
Claw the dream dictionary
looking for citations
of original thirst.
Scrub the carpet’s traces
of spilled milk.
Count every Tuesday you wake up,
thirsty, needful, sore.
DINNER TABLE
In the dream, the set table signals a romantic meal,
some fruitful beginning to some other dinner.
In the memory, it’s the usual setup, the weekday deal:
my place to the right of the father,
overcooked salmon, buttered rice, pitcher of
iced water. Mother missing. Didn’t bother
to mention the part about the dog’s barbiturates,
how much, how little, the hatred of meal prep.
There is a note asking us to consider what
a life means. We haven’t found out yet.
If I knew, would I have stopped the meal, felt
anything enough to hide my mouthfuls of apologies?
Instead, again, I mime drinking my milk
and taste the spray of panic seethe
through limbs like hot piss, stampeding full tilt
through the here and now, twitching beneath
the CBT techniques. I’m here. I’m there. Something’s wrong
with my chosen procedure. Retrieve fork from between teeth,
chew the flat, unreasonable number. Burning panic of two,
left at the table. The dream meant I could learn how to fully feel.
I’ve lost my appetite for this. May I please be excused.
THANATOPHOBIA
Death rides with her in the backseat of the Civic over the Port Mann again, where an easy earthquake could ungird bridge steel, send the family down into the Fraser, the weight of the river more than a little girl could kick against. She holds her breath from Surrey to PoCo.
Death yawns, trying to trigger a sympathetic opening. She grasps at lungful of air like it’s the last thing she’ll ever have.
Despite Death yelling, continually, Boo!
All those knives, drifting in dishwater. Razors in Halloween candy. Broken traffic lights.
Death nudges her chin up to the sky. Acid rain, Soviet bombs, asteroids. Death shows her the size of his hands, which are as big as planets, as thought.
Death squeezes her heart once she learns what a heart is, and how it regularly fails.
Boo! Boo! Boo!
frays of memory & history twist of language and the form
a breath endures when you wake up
shaken, the fist of trauma inches from
the hand of the word that would submerge the Big Idea in bathwater
when the adults’ argument drifts apart a wah-wah trombone ear canal awash with whoosh of escape
or come back to the hum of today where you could almost feel
what he feels, on the neighbour’s porch scrolling through his phone checking for updates
on someone else’s disaster
would you wait on the shore a minute
passing just like my minute
your sea my sea
there are many names for the ocean where so many swim frantic to reach the classroom to take the test teach the class find the almost-forgotten child
your anxiety my anxiety unclimbable towers fall in a dream and all structure
burns as memories burn into sinew
your sinew my throat drift apart particular flotsam fills our drowned lungs
but none of it happened
the way I remembered the moment I woke up
exhaling the dream into your air
