Is it time, you may ask?
In my dream my father slung
one leg over the bicycle frame
turned to wave goodbye
and I knew I was not ready for him to die
not ready to hear the red dread snarl
from the blackness outside
the circle of light
When I was a child my grandfather fashioned me
a zigzag set of teeth from an orange peel
I grow old I grow old
finalement je comprends
This might not be the life I want for my last days
I face my fate and yet and yet
I will not do any yoga today
I will not write
I will not walk the talcum-powder soft sand
of a california beach or eat a fresh picked
peach or watch orange ball sink
into sky of red-black
I will shower, eat my toast, try to silence
the beast in its mangy coat
with blood-stained yellowed teeth
who stands waiting outside the orange glow of light — of life
and beseech him to grant me
more time
“This poem was born of a dream based on a photograph of my father as a young man in Belgium.”
A pearl in this diamond world… Josephine LoRe is a poet, performer, writer, and teacher enjoying the subtleties and complexities of life through love and language. Josephine received the Norma Epstein award for poetry when she was in her third year at U of T. Visit Josephine’s website: https://jolore62.wixsite.com/josephinelore