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Published on Apr 20, 2011
27 poets, 27 stanzas, 1 poem written in response to the Japan earthquake/tsunami. Another Spring will be printed as a broadside by The Emergency Response Unit and sold to raise funds for Second Harvest Japan.
Note that our definition of "Toronto poet" is flexible.
Curated by Sachiko Murakami. Contributors are Sachiko Murakami, Melanie Janisse, Nathaniel G Moore, Jacob McArthur mooney, Dani Couture, Paul Vermeersch, Mat Laporte, Angela Hibbs, Jim Johnstone, Shannon Maguire, Adam Seelig, Liz Howard, a.rawlings, Jenny Sampirisi, Natalie Walschots, Carey Toane, Jay MillAr, Aaron Tucker, Jeff Latosik, Aisha Sasha John, Moez Surani, Leigh Nash, Meaghan Strimas, Michael Knox, Elisabeth de Mariaffi, Stuart Ross and Larissa Lai.
Another lozenge, steam-breath prayer for the last thaw -- then check, ok-a-lee --
another steam another air frost tongue to creator
these tears like talcum are whipping from wind and rain I hold these terrors:
light, and light's supervision. On TV: everyone waddles.
Mud and what's not mud is smoking, still spring creeps in one petal, another, more.
A leaf shakes, and another This time, it's only the wind,
the surge of leafless March, of secluded trunks, sleep pressed rough and noon-glazed
spring descends. Finds us yoked to what we own and do not own:
tremors, mortar re- positioned on touch, recast as a folded page --
ebullient syllables sobered by earth-line's disrupt
links we have and have to say hello is human pollen carrying waves,
fracture along immersed light cloud cover and love of hope,
clover, slobbered, mud molten, birdsong, pollen, sprung arch, of Mrch, pressed Mar
winged crocus say on say on Ochre shore, swan states, lily-
tongue cleaves soft palate as planet shifts, a sharp breath carries word, green leaves
and what's left of the morning. What sounds remain, shallow shores
wish against the rock peopled by plants and creatures fingering limbo
in that peopled space cities bloom fingers leaves tethered fields
and the city in the city crumbles into growth, which shrinks, which lifts
as spring is possible, as forward is not beyond but
possibility. So new endeavors arise by the watered fields
despite memory's acute weight, or broken bloodfeathers,
or, despite fallout, called in from play at the first sign of rain. Alight
these human shivers, global, like our planet, like our them.
Pretend spring. Island fog drops shady down: crocus, cherry blossom, heavy snow.
The tidewaters sleep. Silent hanami picnic. Still air.
Still there, tectonic body breathes human love, our weather's intention --