Home where the hearth is
Let’s explore the root cause of your ruffled feathers.
It might be that the radiator leaks puddles
of small worry or that watercolours melt,
then stain window sills sap green
or palms rubbing rain-thin panes,
to expose our family
drama, to the agora of morning.
Or it might be my shower hastened
by mildew-scented drains, reaching for a towel
I find silverfish crawling
cascading downstairs to the street
in this Eureka! moment.
It might be that I have the answer.
What’s it like raising kids in climate oblivion?
It’s like talking to yellow roses
because I’ll miss them when they go.
Companions in bone-cold days,
their petals wilt, excrete frozen dew.
excretion or exertion
like when I drag myself
through hours after children sleep,
dredging basal brain,
It’s like covering the reptilian basics
of unwiring steel
to cook copper, following
corrosion recipes over radio waves.
It’s like that wobble of birds unravelling
their nests as they watch me and chirp.
We all go south from Galilee
to keep home fires burning
while steam boils
white walls dry.
Radiators substitute for fireplaces
like the earth bubbling in a vacuum-sealed bag,
no possible escape.
Michael Edwards is an emerging poet, writer and busy dad living in Vancouver, BC. His creative influences include his small children and also poets like Seamus Heaney, Philip Levine and Kayla Czaga. He is editor of the brand new Red Alder Review (twitter.com/AlderReview) and has work forthcoming from Cabinet of Heed. You may follow him on Twitter, where he is an active member of the online poetry community (twitter.com/michaelwrites1).