Pale Equals Grief
If you are pale, not in colour, but pale as in
the amount of light that strikes and shines
your face is low then you have lost
The thing that’s tricky
about how to find it
is that you don’t know when you had it
last, or for that matter
where in space
you kept it.
I Associate you with Water
That wet night was followed by the visits when you came down on the train and I would sit on seats and swing my feet which were usually bare you put cardboard over the stairs so I could practice climbing and when we swam at the YMCA you taught me how to hold a breath by making my cheeks big and how to float on my back but I didn’t like the water plugging up my ears I remember one time I ate too much yoghurt and threw up white in the clean turquoise pool and when we ate cereal from half of a hollow cantaloupe you always asked how I felt and what I thought and what I wanted and I always answered I don’t know but that was just because it was easier than explaining that I wanted to turn the mountains upside down and swallow them just so that I could say they were mine I didn’t know the words to say how heavy and permanent your chin felt resting on my head that time I burnt my fingers on the fish pan and you lifted me up to put them under water I thought the silver of the sink made them feel colder some of the things I thought and wanted I’m glad I never said because now I know they weren’t possible or true I thought because you were standing on the porch but facing inside the house that you weren’t leaving I slid my belly over a table and felt the hard knot of the wood press tight as I drew hundreds of drawings giving them to you one by one running from table to porch it felt like forever I was trying to lure you in from that wet night
Mourn Mountain Mourn
Tell me mountain do you rumble
does rumbling come down the stone?
Would you sprinkle pepper in the sky
if you ever cleared the caves?
Fireworks of birds
exploding into sky.
Tell me mountain, would you please
huff those heavy clouds away
peel off that ancient ice
beat your chest with boulders
announce exactly what you are:
miles of straight stone.
You know, I had to look at you for a long time
until my eyes were big enough to hold you
and now mountain, your weight is in my blood.
You are a sad woman
to believe in something so long gone.
Jane Awde Goodwin
I am a 27-year-old redhead who has sold groceries, knives, hotel rooms, furniture and cameras. My poetry has been published in Room, Prism International, Geist, ARC Poetry Magazine, and The Dalhousie Review.