Wednesday, November 4, 2009

What Darcie Hossack says about Grief Blading Up

It's late, almost midnight. The neighbour's dog is howling his loneliness, annoying to a lover of cats, but still full of sorrow from one being to one who can't help but hear. Your poems arrived yesterday, and after a busy day, I've been leaning against the kitchen sink in the almost dark (I always wash up in the dark), dishes dripping into the tray, reading poem after poem, feeling
air fall over my skin as though I'm suddenly outside, with soil and graves beneath my feet. Elsewhere, you are in the world, and somehow the world feels less cold for my knowing.

Darcie Friesen Hossack
Mennonites Don't Dance (Thistledown Press, September 2010)
A collection of prairie stories that form a picture of family, often torn apart at the seams.

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The Magnificent (a poem for Colten Boushie) by Lesley Strutt

I would like to dedicate this poem to Colten and all those who are grieving for him, who feel lost, frightened, unheard, unseen, excluded...