Poet Jane Hirshfield said "... the feeling I have about poem-writing (is) that it is always an exploration, of discovering something I didn't already know.  Who I am shifts from moment to moment, year to year.  What I can perceive does as well.  A new poem peers into mystery, into whatever lies just beyond the edge of knowable ground."

I bring a different poem to the writing classes each week, not only to inspire but to introduce new poets to the group members.

Song for Wild Phlox by Don McKay

Suddenly, June 1, for no good reason, 
the riverbank opens its heart; purple,
purplish, blue, whitish, common
currency from a country warmer than ours,
but cooler in its evenings and foothills.
My Great
Aunt Helen, though proper, used to be addicted
to lacrosse, and sat behind the penalty box
to scold opposing players sent off. Nothing
we ever did deserves
these weeds, which seed themselves
in places we have honoured with neglect.
One evening the dog comes home
freckled with petals of phlox, and for a moment
I imagine the wild wedding in the meadow
where his ample humour must have fit right in
with its numerous kisses and pranks.

~ from Night Field (McClelland & Stewart, 1992)


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