wrist-splinted max
talks about rigging up a bike
for one-handed operation
while i slice dried figs
and corinne slices tomatoes thin
and soula tends to the frittata
_______
awake/not awake
vancouver water in my neti pot
they say that smell is the sense
most strongly linked to memory
_______
wrestling fig trees
with a blackberry bramble
and a gold belt
the three of us
plus two women from the
neighborhood
(simultaneously cheering us on
and telling us to be careful)
bring the ripe red insides
to our mouths
_______
soula leads us through the largest
community garden in canada
takes us to the quince tree
and makes us guess the fruit
which is ripe in late september
when it turns bright yellow
and loses its fuzz
_______
main and first
around the corner
from the pacific central sign
perched over the old train station
we walk over the heat
of fresh-pressed blacktop
moving faster than the backed-up traffic
_______
soula explains
that because vancouver is a port city
a lot of things get brought in
and left here
like heroin
like crack
like cocaine
_______
corinne tucking honeymoon flowers
from the mythical land
behind her ear
along the train tracks
in other worlds
these flowers are known as
pearly everlasting
_______
three mason jars of cold water
on blackpink formica table
at the foundation
where i am an overlay
of past and current selves amorous
bewitched
splintered
whole/healed
_______
rainbow aqua busses
moving slow along the water
science world to our right
the curve of metal
holding us up
eyes closed
i am not sleeping
i am filleting you
_______
two stories
from two cities
in one day
about tossing furniture
from balconies and third floors
roll top desks
and a baby grand
_______
your name
is more
than holy
-by franciszka voeltz, from 8 August
