Tuesday, December 28, 2021

Tuesday poem #456 : Jade Wallace : Silvan




Crossing the bus station, in the
cooling light of six o’clock, amid
people leaving work and

careening into chaos, I am
suddenly overcome with

uncharacteristic tenderness.
A man, tall and shaggy as

a mountain covered in fir trees,
is watching his hands as he

cups the offering of a milky
ice cream cone so gently,

the way tree branches must
hold birds whose wings are

still too small for the sky.




Jade Wallace’s poetry and fiction have appeared in journals including Canadian Literature, This Magazine, The Stockholm Review, and Hermine. Wallace is the reviews editor for CAROUSEL and co-founder of the collaborative writing entity MA|DE, and has a debut full-length poetry collection, Love Is A Place But You Cannot Live There, forthcoming from Guernica Editions in 2023. Stay in touch: jadewallace.ca 

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan


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