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The Weather Station
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Everything I Saw
I grew pale white lilacs and wild columbine – and all of it was mine.
In old recycling bins I grew watermelon vine – and all of it was mine.
And everything I saw seemed to get so small like from a speeding car, old familiar barns.
I made hard wheat bread, and rhubarb berry fool, and I gave it all to you.
I crumpled all my clothes and to the floor I threw them and turned right back to you.
My rotten softwood fence my sagging hydro line – all of it is mine.
The mice come in at night in the muddy streetlight shine see the hulking brown skyline –
all of it is mine.
And all the while I shrunk I pulled my clothes around like my body I could drown.
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I dug up shattered glass and forgotten plastic trucks and coiled faded twine – and all of it is mine.
My buckling plaster walls, cracks snake and wind, all of it is mine.
And everything I knew I seemed to see right through like cheap cotton skirts like the Madawaska view. All these things I knew.
Muddy white petunias, lobelia trails blue-eyed, all of it is mine.
Irises shot up high and white lilies tumbled shy, all of it is mine.
I dug up all my carrots with their wild orange hue, and I gave them all to you.
And all the words with which I didn't know what to do, oh I said them all to you.
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