Poetry / September 2012 (Issue 18)


by Jeanne Morel

Academics funded by the Luce Foundation
breakfast, brunch, and luncheon
with abandon. Bills paid,
beds turned down at night.
Who would have thought it would have come
to this?  Wool pants – Ann Taylor
and those ever present scarves from China,
Southeast Asia.
At the book display, we peruse titles of friends
and enemies alike.  A lot of young people now,
one man says. I don't really know
who they are.

Outside the lobby door – Toronto
– wind towards Lake Ontario.
Dark overcoats pour down Bay Street,
popsicle stick dolls – impassive faces.
On distant ground – landowners
evicted. The government fills the lake with sand.
Residents watch bulldozers
crush their homes.
Upcountry, silkworm larvae feed
– slink segment by slippery segment             
across green mulberry leaves.
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