epic

stand up
stare down
step out
just
like when you opened
their book
their jar
their box
and released
their words
their poison
their power.
the diffused truth
stilled tongues
stalled spaces
sat asses on stools
and you
stretched 
and
stretched
and
stretched
your handhold 
on a comet.
your planted heels,
your leaned back 
and pitch forward,
your allowance of
oxygen meet flame,
you watched 
head consume tail,
and you
stretched
and
stretched
and 
stretched
the clay 
of your core,
not man made,
of mother earth
and her hope 
resided
in your grip.

stand

what grows 
from a buried 
heart?
a stand 
of spruce
birch oak
in silent
congregation
impart
like elders
leaning in
sharing upstretched
dignity.
bent by wind
clenched by cold
quenched by rain
young and old
maple pine
swapping stories
signaling
forgotten times
and fragile futures.
i imagine
the secret of trees
is that they see
themselves like
a family
in the forest
ensouled
entwined and
buried root
down
still dreaming
in seeds.

morska

i recently lost a poem about the
process of losing my grandmother.
the slow tidal gravity that drew me
away from her had me scrambling to 
identify memories of no fixed
address. ironically the faded forms
i could postmark were scribbled on
brightly hued post-its; colour coded
culture schemes with names like rio
de janeiro, bali, helsinki, bora
bora, and marrakesh somehow were not
vivid enough beacons amongst my desk
top miscellany to highlight the
earnest dignity of my own polish
heritage.