NANCY HOLMES | at Imagine Summer, 23 August 2007
4 Poems
Nancy Holmes:
Finch Feeder
I am a dealer.
The junkies sit all day
at the dangling syringe,
shooting up black seed.
In my backyard,
it's opiate, pine needles,
dopy heat, sometimes owls, but still
the addicts shove each other off
the stools to get to the bottle.
Goldfinches hallucinate.
House finches cling to perches,
aprons still stained
with raspberry preserves.
Siskins, high and crazy,
attack my windows.
But I'm a dealer,
so nothing-
no broken home,
no mental case-
nothing will stop me
pushing.
Giant's Head Mountain Ghazal
Two bears in the backyard, like arthritic apes,
fall off the fence and crush the garbage can.
Centuries ago, a boulder broke off the mountain.
A petrified heart, split in two, lies in a basket of grass.
Machines and houses are crawling into the woods.
Bears take their morning walks earlier and earlier.
"There is no bed yet," the nurse said. "Not until someone's sent home
or passes away. Believe me, we're working on it."
Black and white, black and white, black
and white. The magpies write notes all over the mountain.
Bear scat on the path:
blackblood jam and bony cherry pits.
Prickly Pear
(Opuntia fragilis)
like puppies they jump onto the path
where you are walking
they bite your ankles and shoelaces
with sharp annoying teeth
and miniature snarls
you can't kick them off
that's part of the game
you can't pry them off
they nip your fingers
so steel yourself
you've got to take a stick to them
it is the only way
Stroke (a palindrome)
The flood rose soundlessly
at night
while she was sleeping.
Membranes broke,
began to leak.
The arteries
in walls,
which one burst open first?
She couldn't know.
In the dark
so blind with dreams
she couldn't see or feel
the collapse.
The flooding was
silent.
Finally. Silent.
Was.
The flooding,
the collapse.
She couldn't see or feel,
so blind with dreams.
In the dark,
she couldn't know
which one burst open first.
In walls,
the arteries
began to leak.
Membranes broke
while she was sleeping.
At night,
the blood flowed soundlessly.
Nancy Holmes has published four collections of poetry, most recently Mandorla (Ronsdale Press, 2005). She teaches Creative Writing at the University of British Columbia Okanagan and has worked as an editor, writing instructor and a mother. She lives in Kelowna, British Columbia where she is working on a collection of poems about Okanagan plant and animal life.
Copyright © 2007 Nancy Holmes. All rights reserved.
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