Still salty Salish air in fall
and the small flounder crunches
between her teeth
The otter numbers are up
not like stocks but spirits
She sits on a rock munching
the discourse called trade
that Spanish / Russian / British squeeze
in the straits when skins
came off with a sick sucking noise
Globalization dribbles off her pelt,
her nonchalance, her pregnant belly,
this counter-colonial moment in
English Bay, the tide just turning
her satisfaction in being
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3 comments:
Thanks for sharing, your blog is worth reading, nice post. Keep it up.
I liked it. Just stopping in to let you know about a place;The United States of Earth: I discovered a network of people involved in the push to protect our Constitutional rights and to swear allegiance to our country and its citizens. Come fight the tyranny of tomorrow. http://www.usofearth.com/index.php
Masterful, as always! Any poet who makes other poets swoon is the shiz... cheers! :)
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