Wednesday Poems

Image: Lost and Found, pastel on paper, 11” x 14” (Sold)

It might seem a bit odd to post, in April, a poem that ends with mention of winter (though I know it’s been snowing elsewhere this week).  But really, the rest of the poem is all about its title: Neighbours (from Belonging, Sono Nis Press).  And this is the time of year we begin to emerge from our winter hibernation to get the gardens cleaned up, start projects around the property – and see more of each other.  I’ve also been mindful lately of how important neighbours are.

Here on Pender, for the past year, elders have developed what we’re calling the G’Old Network.  Its purpose is to develop and sustain an environment that supports all who wish to grow old and die peacefully on Pender. Gatherings have explored a variety of concerns, ranging from seniors’ housing and public transportation to ready access to emergency care. And now we’re beginning to hold workshops to dive more deeply into issues related to these concerns.  One thing I’ve noticed people mention often, is that a big part of making our goal possible is having a network of supportive neighbours and friends who can lend one another a hand when needed.  Through all the years we’ve lived here, I’ve also noticed how very often – and quickly – people in our community step up to help as soon as they hear there is a need.

But I didn’t write this poem about Pender. I wrote it about the East Vancouver neighbourhood where my husband and I lived for 25 years before moving here in 2012.  After I read it at the book launch A Verse Map of Vancouver (2009) produced when George McWhirter was Vancouver’s poet laureate, people kept coming up to tell me my poem could as easily have been about their neighbourhood.  And here I’d thought it was just our little corner of the world.  I couldn’t have been happier to be wrong!

Too much of the world’s news lately can lead us to feel there is no end to the horrors on offer; but when we look up from all that, it’s encouraging to see just how much good there is in people. It fills me with hope that we can all build on that.

Neighbours


We discover each other slowly, through
summer afternoons renovating our houses,
hear histories between hammer strokes
about whose house used to be whose,
or the school behind the transit line
once a dairy farm,
our urban lots the hayfield
until it burned.

Newcomers and old-timers are introduced,
grow comfortable with people
who never would have cared to meet
if they hadn't happened on the same block.

We say the same
about most relatives, co-workers –
if not for blood or job ties
we'd have nothing in common,
let the comment pass as if it's a given,
as if there’s proof in how we lose touch
when we move on –
though they change us forever
and we them.

A citied-in street slows
the hurry-home from errands
with the syrup of blackberry scent and sweet peas
urging us back toward something
of the country town –
a craving for everyone to know everyone,
what we've been up to.

Fences eventually become supports to lean words on,
porches a reason to pause
as we become neighbours for a season,
stitching together the remnants of a village
before winter sets in.