Tuesday poem #672 : Christina Wells : You Are What You Eat

 

If you forestall the effort to stay tidy with your thinking, you might remember how fear does not live on a separate planet from awe. This is the wilderness we stand in.
— Sara Michas-Martin, Orion Magazine

There is no more inside you, or outside,
no separation between pure and toxic hearts,
only the wilderness we live in, wide-eyed

while microplastics crowd in on the tide,
doll arms, tampons, bearings from motor parts
that come to live inside you, and outside,

plastic breast milk, placenta, blood, fisherprice-ified,
plastic tap water, dust, toothpicks from Walmart—
this wilderness we live in, wide-eyed. 

The oceans are full of polyvinyl chloride
technicolour bath toy, wheel of a grocery cart
there is no more inside you, or outside. 

To save the species we created a synthetic landslide—
pool balls in teal, fuchsia combs, our attempt to unhurt
this wilderness we live in, wide-eyed. 

We collect neon sea plastic, stupefied
that daily we consume the amount of a credit card
There is no longer inside and outside,
in this new wild we stand in, wide-eyed.

 

 

 

Christina Wells (she/her) is a multi-genre writer from Northern Arm, Newfoundland/Ktaqmkuk. Her award-winning work, which explores memory and place, has appeared in The New Quarterly, ROOM, Riddle Fence, Horseshoe Magazine, and The Newfoundland Quarterly, with forthcoming work in the next issues of The Fiddlehead and Yolk. She recently completed an MA in Creative Writing at Memorial University and lives in St. John’s with her beautifully chaotic family and her angel dog.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan 

Tuesday poem #671 : Binoy Zuzarte : Margate (Golden Hour)

 

Dead algae and pheromone spice:
there’s a full circle
in the smell of low tide 

anointing arches in the throat
as Turner himself lays sun
like coins on the eyes. 

It’s quiet but for all this gold
you can’t take with you,
sky with room for just itself. 

In the foreground a towel
tied to the railing where stairs
enter the seascape— 

someone’s in the water.
For a moment before I get too close
it’s not impossibly you 

—a bell sounds seven and the spell
ends. Light unspools. I start
back toward a stuck door. 

Voices clink at Sargasso,
air purpling, the harbour’s arm
some comfort. Toast.

 

 

 

 

Binoy Zuzarte (he/him) is a writer and creative director. Recent poems appeared or will be found in Arc, Augur, and The Shore, as well as In-Between, an art show centred on the Canadian immigrant experience. He lives with his partner and their dog in Toronto, where he is working toward his first collection.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday poem #670 : Nicholas Selig : Long Lake & Elsewhere

 

 

A 6000-hectare animal
clambers down the Annapolis Valley. 

When wind excuses itself,
our smoky palate dissolves. 

Copper light burrows through the sky.
Ash in last night’s lime crema 

or other worldly injustices. Even then,
it’s easy to forget until your own hill glows. 

 

 

 

 

Nicholas Selig’s poetry has appeared in Contemporary Verse 2, the League of Canadian Poets, and EVENT magazine. He was awarded Nova Scotia’s Rita Joe Poetry prize in 2023.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan