breakfast

still dark outside 

diluted cup of coffee splashed with 10% cream

corelle bowl filled with

multi-grain cheerios

a sliced banana

kellog’s bran buds

1% milk

one slice of raisin cinnamon toast

buttered 

news on the radio

placemat protects table 

still dark outside 

another day stretches ahead

Healey Willan

round wire rims reflect morning sun

as he saunters up the tree-lined path

to meet you

he is smoking his

black         rounded           pipe

taking it in his hand

to speak his formal

 but warm greeting 

you walk with him on the outskirts of the town

and he comments on

just harvested crops

the nearly bare trees

the leaf strewn lawns

the black cleaned-up gardens 

this is his favourite time

he says

a time of precipice

of being keenly aware of the knife edge 

of beauty 

between life and death 

he tells you about the

long       arcing turn of life

with sunshine and shadow

flash and haze

seeding and harvest

as he puffs the sweet tobacco 

and you bathe in the aching beauty

of the moment

Nick's Inn circa 1980

crowded rusty car drive

down grant avenue

then roblin

and across river Assiniboine

on narrow country bridge

to headingly 

we unload

and hunch into booths

of familiar vinyl and formica

menus eschewed

we order chile burgers

fries and coffee

or milkshakes with tall frosty metal cups 

we talk over

and under

each other

words

so important and mighty

ready to take on the world 

this crossing over

         is what lingers

clarinetist

in

tri

cate

jumb

le of

silver

on black 

tapers to tip

with clamped moistened reed 

I’m 13

blonde boy

adolescent hands grasp five sections

push

and

twist together for first time 

gradually mouth and fingers make it part of me

flexible voice reaching up

delving

down 

I was never able to slide up the Gershwin rhapsody

or noodle true jazz like Benny or Woody

but the jumble of feelings when I play

clamps my heart in place 

and I know who I am again