Tuesday poem #679 : Robin Durnford : Peel

 

 

this whole day I didn’t think
of her, had work to do

fed the cats, ate an apple
played with the seeds

on my tongue I crunched
the bitterness and it echoed

through the hall as if I had punched
a hole through the middle

or thrown the flesh against the wall.
you seemed afraid of me then.

like I might spit a seed at you
or peel your skin

and bite you to the core.

 

 

 

 

Robin Durnford was born in St. John's Newfoundland and grew up on the west coast of the island. She is the author of five books of poetry, including A Lovely Gutting (2012), Fog of the Outport (2013), Half Rock (2016), Gaptoothed (2020), and most recently, At Beckett's Grave (2025). She currently lives in Montreal (Tiohtià:ke) where she teaches poetry and memoir at John Abbott College. “Peel” is from a poetry collection she is currently working on called Aspirations for my Enemy.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

 

Tuesday poem #678 : Gage Michael Wheatley : Anatomy of a Lotus Eater

 

I think there should be flowers
and my arms
should end in petals
the right mix
of forget-me-nots
and kink
fingers to swarm
my rosy skin,
peachy ass. Roots
embedded into
cotton sheets.
A charming biography
of a boy
who lost track
of his body
somewhere
in the aughts.
My stomach is where I hid
the lotuses,
where they pull me
to my core.
My fingers tangle
when I
reach
for the sun.
The earthy peat
feels colder
than I remember,
like an absent parent.
I think there should be flowers
in my skin pricking,
plucking
and staining my sides,
but it seems there are far
fewer
than there used to be.

 

 

 

 

Based in Montreal/Tiohtià:ke, Gage Michael Wheatley's interdisciplinary practice weaves together poetry, ceramics, and photography. They build on a queer aesthetic of playful art-making to explore how we relate to history, myth, and the world around us. Gage’s practice is a quiet inquiry into the space where discarded things become treasures. Their work has appeared in CV2, carte blanche, yolk, and Headlight Anthology, among others.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

 

Tuesday poem #677 : Emilie Lafleur : UNTITLED

 

 

On any given afternoon I could burn

Through the afternoon

Totality is as lightless as it should be

I resented losing my claim to the sidewalk

I wandered around and repeated

Colourless in my head       I flashed

Partial gold plate

I remembered myself flatter                   All one tone

Or beside something and facing away from it

And yet some people are moved to such

Descriptions that when the light really

Changed                 I was counting it

 

 

 

 

 

Emilie Lafleur is a writer from Montreal. She holds an MA in English and Creative Writing from Concordia University, and her poetry has appeared online and in print in The Void, Expat Press, Fellow Travellers, Metatron, Vallum, Usurpator, and The End, among others. She is the 2024-25 recipient of the Susan Jeanne Briscoe Fellowship for experimental writing by women and is currently working on a project about the poetics of conspiracism.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan