Luggage Poemsall my books collect dust except the one of love poems you gave me that day when the spring rains kept us indoors
my lips always tingled when I kissed her— true love, she whispered I didn’t say cat allergy
the way you look at me while I rub your arms— you are the painting I have never painted a thousand times
summer breeze lifts a corner of our picnic blanket— + I place a grape on your outstretched tongue
perhaps I dream to much of you— but, for all the world that summer cloud is the shape of your face
these roses in a porcelain vase— I cannot believe yet I want to believe they are from you
she points to the sundog and asks if it means anything I tell her it means I love you
our ladder propped against the gutter— you turn to see if I am here steadying it
jingle of the dog’s collar out in the hall— we pause in our lovemaking, Christmas Eve
dans le corridor
morning sun warming our sheets . . . for a moment as you slide your body down, your nipple in my navel
a snail has left its delicate silver trail on my book of love poems left out on your porch overnight
at last we depart after lingering in embrace— the echo of your footsteps in the fog
ink stain on the pillow slip— what else but write can I do while you’re gone
her plane disappears into starlight . . . and somewhere in her luggage my love poem The translation of the “jingle of the dog’s collar” poem into French is by Mike Montreuil, from Atlas Poetica, 2010, in which I was one of twenty-five poets in a feature focusing on Canadian tanka poets. See also “Poèmes de bagages / Luggage Poems” for French translations of seven of these tanka. |