Good news. Greg Santos, the Canadian poet based in New York, has intro'd me today at The Best American Poetry blog, as part of his research into Anglophone Quebec Poets. My modest foray into the American consciousness continues, with a poem that has just appeared in the latest issue of New American Writing 27. I also have work in the latest issue of Gargoyle and Steam Ticket, and forthcoming poems in Fulcrum. Thanks to all those editors.
A poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.
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