Excerpts From A Possible Trust

BY RONNA BLOOM // Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2023

The City

A network of roads spreads finely
through fields, between tower blocks
and building sites, it spins
through highways and downtowns
and downtowns. Dangerous neighbourhoods
await arteries. Maps
the city Toronto to the city Dublin to the city London.
All converge. Circle road, Ring road.

I am going out all the exits on the highway
at the same time. Mapping
a leg to a shoulder, a memory to a hill,
a blue vein to an arm. Cross
sections of past. Yonge Street meets
King north of Piccadilly Circus
like a skin graft. Major intersections
cross the body.

I don’t know where I’m going and the city
calls to my voices, my limbs,
all my uncertain directions, saying:
Lie down in the not knowing.
Lie down in me.

Permiso

There’s a tree in my heart
and I don’t know its name.

It stands straight behind my breasts
like a closed tulip.

Permiso, it says.
Allow me.

Why Are You So Scared?

If I were chased from my house
by men with guns and sacks and flags
if I were bitten on the mouth by a dog
with a head the size of a typewriter
if I sat in a waiting room in emergency
with a gash on my hand
and a man came in with a machete,
if someone was standing at the foot of my bed
in the middle of the night
if a flood swept through the house while I slept,
if I woke up to find my neighbours gone,
if the plane I was on began,
if the car ahead of me without,
if I was asked,

if I were in the street at night with a roar
behind me and a fire in front,
if I was herded off in a train
and there was no agency anywhere
to stop anything, not internally or externally,
if the crickets, firecrackers and flames
of sudden light and sound were indistinct,
you might not ask.

If my home and your home disappeared
and we were left in the air
with no protection from the air
then, with nothing left to protect
I might rest.

Don't Be Superficial, 'Cause We'll Soon Find Out

At one time, there was the death of a father.
At one time, there was the death of a brother,
and at one point there was a brain surgery,
and it was all just one moment.

I'm not just a feeling, I'm seeing.
I have sight and insight. And I'm
here committed to breathing
joy and painting, until there's nothing left.

I believe in peace with yourself.
And I need to hear my voice. I hear feelings
that are the truth of another.

I don't protest, I profess love
and the abundance of tomorrow
that I may never see.