Canadian Poetry Online top banner link to Canadian Poetry Online home page link to University of Toronto Libraries home page

The White Flower

Bruce Meyer
From:   The Open Room. Black Moss Press, 1989, p 18


For Gwendolyn MacEwen, in memory

Leading the life of an island when ships pass by
I walked alone tonight in the afterglow
and imagined shores without a single footprint,

the inner labyrinth of green life a lexicon,
and every clear stream a perfect memory.
I called to you in the twilight once --

the shadows buzzed with cicadas.
You held a white flower in your fingertips,
its petals draping your articulate hand,

waiting to be pressed like a poem among pages,
set to memory as if a round summer moon.
Season after season I clutch the brittle remains

of old earthís crumbling catalogue,
tighten my knuckles to white and nothing I can say
can restore the light a withered rose

or the moon high in a humid August sky
unless someone in the silence of a winter night
needs and is needed to announce the first star.

Starlight, starbright, I knew a woman who sang
of the plucked moon blooming on a summer night.
She gave me the white flower in her hand.



Bruce Meyer's works copyright © to the author.


Canadian Poetry Online bottom banner link to University of Toronto Libraries home page link to Digital Collections home page link to University of Toronto Library catalogue link to Canadian Poetry Online home page link to University of Toronto Libraries home page