Courtesy of PLANT Architects, my poem "The City" is now painted 20 metres long on King Street, Toronto as part of the King Street Pilot project. Here's what Azure Magazine had to say:
Read MoreThis Breakfast
In honour of Gerry I invent a new breakfast.
A fried egg, bacon and warm spinach salad.
It took me several tries to get that order right.
Did you say a warm spinach salad? Feh.
With a fried egg? A warm spinach, egg,
and bacon salad. A warm spinach, fried
egg, and bacon salad. An mmmm fried
egg and bacon salad. An mmm fried egg
and bacon and warm spinach salad.
What I wanted was greasy, salty, green, limp,
and fresh, with vinegar, and two kinds of toast,
one grainy, one smooth like challah but more brioche,
with peach and orange marmalade I made.
Three mugs of tea. No four. Dark
chocolate biscuits for dessert. Dessert
for breakfast. Pablo Neruda said, I confess
that I have lived. So would Gerry.
It was a lazy Susan kind of mind, wanting to
put together whatever wanted to go in the bowl
and my mouth, with a bit of vinegar, as I said.
It was exactly what I wanted, which delighted
me as I'd stopped trying to make it work.
Just eat, Gerry said.
After the funeral, I felt like someone took
a gun and blasted it through the part of my brain
that makes sense. It was left raw, like egg.
Ok, egg. Bacon. Ok. Greens. Ok. Jam! Yes.
And imaginings of Lorraine cooking with me,
and Gerry sitting, and I have no idea if he likes
any of this, but to stay true to the process and its shtick
in the service of a mission that holds in its mouth
the names, and imagined wants of others, as much
as one's own taste buds, is, I think,
just what the man ordered.
Ronna Bloom, The More, (Pedlar Press, 2017)
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