Last night walking home from a poetry reading I was inches away from being struck in a crosswalk by a vehicle running a red light at speed. I felt the quick push and suck of air. At the same moment two girls a few steps behind me screamed and the SUV disappeared down Belleville Street. There are a number of things that happen, and a number of thoughts that pass in the minutes and hours after a such a miss. Like how a miss is a kind of hit. Like how much your partner, your kids, your family, your friends mean; and how this heightened sublimity should be natural and constant. How crystalline and shimmering the lights along the inner harbour look, despite the drizzle; how the long lines of lights framing the parliament buildings all went nova. Like being happy you read the poem you did (Poem broken open), appropriate as any, should it have been your last. Like how many poems you’ve left unfinished, how many hours you’ve wasted, how much more music there is out there, how much more beauty there is to see, lungfuls of thick air to breathe. Then, how guilt flirts with gratitude: in the rush of thankfulness you recall that not long ago across the city an eleven-year-old girl was struck in a crosswalk and will never truly recover. And then, how anger arrives late and you fling a chain of curses at the truant driver. How in the revelation of another chance, in the resolve to make all things matter, you go home and fall asleep watching some Netflix show. How at 3 AM you’re wide awake and take to reading the late Franz Wright’s book: God’s Silence. How early this morning for no reason, or for some reason, your second oldest son who only sends a message in response to one, takes the initiative: “Hey dad, just thinking of you. Hope you’re fabulous. I love you.”
so grateful you’re still with us!
Thanks Sam.
Life is so fragile…
Beautiful, thought-filled words, thank you 🙂
Thank you Claire.
I now want to be kinder today. Most all your poems inspire the best in me.
Thank you Joyce.
‘How in the revelation of another chance, in the resolve to make all things matter, you go home and fall asleep watching some Netflix show.’ Ain’t humans fascinating. Another beautiful, gracious post. Keep safe and well, Stephen.
Thank you Laurie.
Beautiful and haunting. Even these frightening, near-miss offer a gift… thanks for this, Steve. Glad to have you in our lives!
Lovely. Thank you Melanie.
Grateful it was a miss Steve. Takes a bit to catch ones breath. Thank for all these reminders too, and thoughtful text from your second oldest.
Thanks Jo!
Zoe and I were standing in front of Open Space talking about how safe this city no longer is at night right about the time this would have happened Stephen. I’m glad you made it through, and it gave you something to write.
Good job turning crap into art!
Well that’s interesting timing. Thanks so much Will.
So grateful it was a miss. Your words inspire and remind me of the beauty all around, even when things aren’t great.
Thank you so much for that Corinne.