Lindsay Hutton

I have to be quick

because as soon as the words turn up

I can’t remember if there’s enough milk in the fridge,

or if the daycare cheque will bounce

and how long that wet load of laundry sat in the washer.

You read about stems and bursts

and phoenixes, even quickenings, and all the shades of green

pushing their way through their fingers

but mine are poking through a crack in the wall of the basement

hoping it can suffer another spring.*

He suggested I listen to A Love Supreme, “at least twice;

you need to breathe in a measure or two, on loan,

because it’s too early for the candles

and the wine you keep under the sink,”

that I never drink, but got used to hiding.

Uspokój się (be calm), I whisper to myself,

loud enough  to sound like I need it to feel

before all I can do is look away

and remember to leave the cap off the pen.

-lh. 01/05/22.

(*It’s worth noting here that this project isn’t always about the final product. Sometimes words can fall out faster than I can write them; more often, it’s scraping, and shoving together puzzle pieces that were never meant to fit. Maybe this will feel formative at some point. One can hope. -lh.)