2 September 2004 | Vol. 4, No. 3
Glistening
Tiger said why are you
so pretty. I have seen you in pearls
and laces. At night
kissing each part of your nothing.
We break the window
before he can.
His snowball his weekend
turning to weekday.
He laps up the water from our gloves,
too full to lick the temples.
Leaves our house lightly
like a man who has forgotten.
It is not a straight line.
It never has been.
The flowers you made for the goat
are eaten by your roommates
who feel like fruit.
A walk in shallow water?
Further than the spirit trembles
they are eating snow on the moon.
In winter we lie
in the curious river
without matches.
Only the chain is broken,
not the pendant.
Who laughs so fluently?
The mate is a flute played in the wild.
About the author:
Jen Currin lives in Vancouver, B.C., with her wife, the talented Christine Leclerc. Jen has published one book, The Sleep of Four Cities (Anvil Press, 2005), and has one forthcoming: Hagiography (Winnow Press). She teaches creative writing at the Vancouver Film School and Langara College.
For further reading:
See the complete list of work by Jen Currin at 42opus. Browse the contents of 42opus Vol. 4, No. 3, where "Glistening" ran on September 2, 2004. List other work with these same labels: poetry.
