CAESURA
windowless the rain mourns
black cabs on the highway
speed by empty buses
passengers thinned like weeds
no one stops speaking into tunnels
of phones searching voices for faces
wind gleans the alleyways recycling
joggers jog in place
gloves discarded fall
like broken geese home
on their journey this spring
but the season is off
we are waiting for a sign hands tied
touching faces with sleeves
downtown the buildings rise deserted
white tombs cell blocks
some lean into their love stare
into the eyes’ great plain and wonder
some take quiet sips of air
stillness fallen on rage
some wander the streets bewildered
everyone shuttling by
nothing to eat no one to ask
pigeons fly in a circle on St-Viateur land
the geese are coming home
sun warming the earth
we are sheltering this spring caesura
circling each other warily
trying to settle somewhere
trying to land more softly
Author’s Bio
Kelly Norah Drukker is a Montreal-based writer. Her poetry collection Small Fires (MQUP, 2016) won the A. M. Klein Prize for Poetry and the Concordia University First Book Prize, and was a finalist for the Grand Prix du livre de Montréal. Petits feux (trans. Lori Saint-Martin, Paul Gagné) appeared in 2018.
