The lilacs have risen to solo in the corner orchestra of greens.
Purple odours permeate the branched alveoli of my lungs.
I slip through the briars, listen to wind shaking the canopy, stand
in place till I’m pulled through the port of entry.
I fight. Play possum. But my wit leaks as lilacs rust
from bone ivory. Death seeps. I hold
my breath to tease the light they say is coming,
but like the trees I darken the forest.
You must find the hidden passage inside the earth’s purse.
Chewing worms. Burrowing owls! Nothing is still,
not even my mind turning to brain, a field in fallow. The earth
slides over my face. I see the exchange that’s happening —
a dead mother wants out. Her red hair rises with the wings
of insects, and I sink further than the lair of the fox.
CHTHONIC by Catherine Graham | Sandalwood Poetry Reed Diffuser
Catherine Graham lives in the Haliburton Highlands, Ontario. Her eighth book Æther: An Out-of-Body Lyric was a finalist for the Trillium Book Award, Toronto Book Award, and won the Fred Kerner Book Award. Published internationally, her poems have been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, shortlisted for the Montreal International Poetry Prize and have appeared in Best Canadian Poetry and on CBC Radio. Put Flowers Around Us and Pretend We’re Dead: New and Selected Poems is her latest book.
