Kelly Norah Drukker | 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.