Tuesday, July 28, 2020

Tuesday poem #382 : Jean Van Loon : Off-Season Sun

A tall steel wall blurs
the roar of transports
sear of sirens hustling
crushed bodies. Here
in shadow, south-sunk sun
spears through rusted holes
in the grey corrugation
blazes miniatures
of itself on tree, fence,
wall. Small suns
flash black
when a vehicle passes.


Leaves blind me
with their dying
in the dying light.
Even the hackberry
with its stubborn cling
of shrivelled brown
emits a coppery lustre
in the low sun
of the day’s
and the year’s


Drenched in gold, sun
moves south for winter
returns on occasion
for visits begrudged
and brief.

Jean Van Loon’s [photo credit: Pearl Pirie] first poetry collection Building on River (Cormorant Books, 2018) was a finalist for the Ottawa Book Prize. Her stories, poems, and reviews have appeared in literary magazines in the US and Canada and in Journey Prize Stories.  Facebook @Jean Van Loon; Twitter @JeanVanloon.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

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