Street Chandeliers
As I move through COVID-19 days, I remember a few lines I penned before the new normal started.
Like most of my poetry in Sea Glass Circe, "Street Chandeliers" is a love poem. One that is light-hearted - for a change.
In true Canadian fashion, its "action" takes place in a hockey arena in winter and the object of my (imaginary) affection is an amateur hockey player.
The hockey arena in question is none other than the small enclosure in Dieppe Park, in East York, which I pass on my way to the local library.
This is how, in my case, reality and poetry blend together, until my head spins and I can't distinguish one from the other.
And yes, as I write this blog post, the library is still closed.
Street Chandeliers Taking a shortcut on my way home, aspen trees shrouded in the drift of dumbed-out neon lights, past the hockey arena at Dieppe Park. I can hear skates cutting across the ice and the swoosh of a misplaced puck heading towards the deserted bleachers. Just a few onlookers, clapping their hands at the shot, mostly to shoo away the cold plus the referee whistling his way through the impromptu of melting snowflakes. You look at me from behind the centerline. Hockey sticks change position, back from where they were, upholding the air, like some sort of odd and shifting street chandeliers. The game resumes and so does the night.
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