Jessica Wilczak


Toronto, January 2012: a Poem


For JP Here is a curbed and censored winter— its skies are blank as paper. So instead we read the sidewalks sanded bone-white by a wind made fast and loose on northern highways. They draw chalk lines over crabgrass relapsed since November. “Never mind,” they say, “This is no bardsung city of love, just the brick and stockyard reckoning of economical men.” Now there’s not a solitary leaf to hide...