I wanted to tell you to
about the time I decided we
should give the seasons
new names every year;
you could win the naming rights
like a Golden Ticket.
Or how much I love to watch
the muted ticking-downward
of a run in a stocking
as it chases the floor.
Or if you and your friends
sneak under the outdoor stage
you can find a sound so big,
the span of its amplitude
widens your lungs and its
centre thickens your spine.
But all I could see was yesterday.
The man sleeping in the doorway
of a government building,
wrapped in bottle-blue tarp.
And the thick of disgust that filled
a woman’s eyes as she saw him;
the doubling of her pace,
as if she had to flee.
She wore a $1400 Canada Goose coat.
I tried to reshuffle the deck
but when I close my eyes,
the trails of the spots I see
as they float, stain ribbons
across the light
when I open them,
with that
same blue.
-lh (01/19/22)
Lindsay Hutton 