Sunday Morning, February 2021Snow-roofed houses, dawn-still trees,
seen from my twelfth floor window;
the only coloured thing, the traffic light.
Joggers outrun its winking changes,
claim the road–sidewalks not cleared–
ravenous for distance.
Dogs don’t look up, dog walkers do,
on their stop-and-start way;
red light? just turn the corner.
A few cars wobble to the crossing,
drivers still waking grateful for order
as they hesitate.
Green light excites, cars go.
Where shall I go? How about–
Once I would have called it yellow
but learned amber,
subtler, caution against haste.
Red light predictable
as flannel nightgowns,
same high-fibre breakfast.
a man and a woman are one,
a woman and a traffic light are one.
Ice, A Collage
Born in Winnipeg, Marvyne Jenoff has lived in the Toronto area for most of her adult life. She began publishing poetry in literary magazines as a student at the University of Manitoba. The author of three books of poetry and one of experimental fiction published by Canadian literary presses, she is also a visual artist. Her creative work can be seen at www.marvnejenoff.org.
Banner Art: Detail from“Ice”, a collage by Marvyne Jenoff, (c) 2021.