Thank you, Patti. What a gift it is to receive these audio snippets in my inbox of messages and poems. They have been a delight, like little love notes from a favourite aunt. Like stranger kin. They bolster the creative spirit. One of the things I miss most about Montreal since moving to the Aussie outback is green and the smells of the seasons, the waxing and waning of life, the rich vibrance of colours. I never thought I'd miss the smells of humus and dog shit melting as the first leaves and shoots burst forth. Here is a little poem I wrote on the feeling of displacement... and of a different kind of magic.
on May 1st I listened to your reading of The Trees on repeat because it gave me something beautiful for this day as I walked alone around the streets of Berlin before curfew ... thank you so very much!
Thanks Patti for your gift of words of spring. Here under the southern cross, our leaves are falling, floating, yellow, brown and red in carpets underfoot. is our cycle ahead or behind? Who can tell?
I am thrilled to subscribe to you and your work. Thank you for bringing you and your words to us. I am star struck at the moment, hopefully my tongue will untie and I can comment maturely 😂🇨🇦 May is my birth month, and this is my gift to Me!
Thank you Patti! Green and grief . . . . So grateful you're on Substack and imaging a celebration on April 1st, 2022.
This is so good. Thank you.
Thank you so much, Patti!
Thank you, Patti. What a gift it is to receive these audio snippets in my inbox of messages and poems. They have been a delight, like little love notes from a favourite aunt. Like stranger kin. They bolster the creative spirit. One of the things I miss most about Montreal since moving to the Aussie outback is green and the smells of the seasons, the waxing and waning of life, the rich vibrance of colours. I never thought I'd miss the smells of humus and dog shit melting as the first leaves and shoots burst forth. Here is a little poem I wrote on the feeling of displacement... and of a different kind of magic.
displaced
I feel winter in my bones
I wake cold, shivering
under blankets piled to the ceiling
the weight of them grounds me
to return to dreaming
there’s no place like home
but my slippers aren’t rubies
and the road is red dust
the ravens follow me
call to me, “you are home, home, home.”
but it is summer, not the winter
my bones tell me it should be
and the sun beats my shoulders with a kiss
as my bare feet meet the scorched earth
I don’t sink into its depths
the earth is hard and dry
and and carpeted in thorns
I’ve forgotten the sharp bite
of frost and the feeling of snow flakes
melting as they land soft on my skin
In this place, I am other
a foreign object that never quite settles
inside, I am an entire landscape
covered in sweat, dirt, tears
forests, fur, and feathers
inside, I am warm
even in the cold I am home
Thank you Patti. So enjoyable being here with you.
on May 1st I listened to your reading of The Trees on repeat because it gave me something beautiful for this day as I walked alone around the streets of Berlin before curfew ... thank you so very much!
Thanks Patti for your gift of words of spring. Here under the southern cross, our leaves are falling, floating, yellow, brown and red in carpets underfoot. is our cycle ahead or behind? Who can tell?
I am thrilled to subscribe to you and your work. Thank you for bringing you and your words to us. I am star struck at the moment, hopefully my tongue will untie and I can comment maturely 😂🇨🇦 May is my birth month, and this is my gift to Me!
Check out Glenn Greenwald on substack.
Patti this Substack subscription is such a gift, thank you so much. What joy you bring❤️
Yes to more audio poems! Thank you. 🌳🌿🌱
Happy May Day Dear Patti 🌻
Loved hearing you. I closed my eyes and pretended you were at my kitchen table with me xxxx
Love your voice.
Love your voice.
Thanks, Patti.