not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

ivy, a small story of being seen

i took pictures in the way
in front of the patio door
while the children ran inside and out
my children
the neighbourhood children
i had taped a piece of white paper to the back of the pantry
in behind the ivy
so that it might show with great contrast
in the afternoon rotating light
the children fumbled with their shoes beneath my feet
muddy and damp
spring arriving
they pushed past me on their way to their bikes
on their way to penny candy

what 'er ya doing?
the neighbourhood girl with the moon face asked
as though i were an alien
and before i could answer my daughter said
she's taking pictures
she put up the white sheet to better see by

can i take a picture mom?

she saw me
she saw me
my daughter saw me for a moment
against my cheap white sheet


  1. i once had a dream where people could see my heart, not like a heart but like a well-tuned clockwork, and they laughed at it like its cogs and wheels tickled them somehow with their movements. but then they looked closer and started to feel admiration for its innate intricacy. and just before i awoke they looked to their own chests as if something was missing, something they needed and wanted in their flesh.

    i feel such tenderness toward you in this. and your daughter. sometimes we get it right. sometimes we get why we love the people we do.

  2. andreas, it's a beautiful dream.

    sometimes we are granted these moments of severe gratitude.



"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))