There’s a plainness, a yearning, a clarity of images but not an over-simplicity. On p. 39, in the poem All I May Ever Know by Brenda Brooks, Blue Light In The Dash, (Polestar, 1994),
What I need is a fever
of another kind,
and a distant cabin
to have it in.
p. 42-3 Stormy Weather, a plaintive poem, and from the middle section,
Stay with me
through the night
and into the day that won’t let go,
the night when I waken
mistaking my own heart for scary weather,
nothing to ease it but a scrawny dog,
a fly trapped behind the slats
of a blind
when I confuse my own heart
with every hungry, stuttering thing,
each famished being raised on spaces,
be with me
I stopped for the reading day at the poem More News of Peaches with “the flowering crabapple’s / orange bird singing”, p. 50
But how curious. Switching between books to Crawlspace: New and Selected by Monty Reid (Anansi, 1993), where I was p. 29 Groceries and eating a peach from the aisles,
The store detectives caught
us at the checkout.
They never said much
but I could taste that peach
And then, because I jump around, especially when I’m not officially reading, but waiting for the computer to do what I asked, I flipped it open again and p. 115 was the next poem, entitled Crabapples.
They do not belong to us, but to the light
that falls in the next yard
Funny this serendipity. Some odd cross-ties.