The gentle squeaks of plates and
cutlery make me smile more than
I should. Would you believe me
if I told you that it was worth it?
The woody musk of antique
tables and chairs; the dull
effervescence of grocery stores
paired with the constant effort
of being better. I still swear, but
I swear I could be better still.
The landscapes of silly love songs
paying homage to Carr and Thomson:
paintings of warmth in isolation,
subjects at once alien and familiar
(a Canadian vernacular.)
I’ll always fall throughout the winter.
Retrace my steps, Point A to be
a beacon for lost
measurements of time.
I smoke less than I used to and I’m still afraid to die.
I find new creative ways to self-destruct,
like with poetry and god and thinking I
am so fucking powerful.
I am seduced into attentiveness
by the allure of life itself –
the burst of a newly cut citrus,
the pulse of the refrigerator in my kitchen,
even the tin taste in the tuna I eat with saltines.
Evenings by the lake make a certain
frame of mind for me. It asks me if
I have called my mother and reminds me
to brush my teeth.
I imagine what it will be like when you and I
will meet again. A man behind a bar will act
like a friend and ask me what I feel like.
A glass of water.
A whisky neat.
Pushing, pulling by Katerina Sevelka is a Blasted Tree original poem.
Edition of 50 booklets published in Canada
Images by or courtesy of: G & C Ltd (1910); Vancouver Public Library; Robert Collett (1842-1913); Ted Hood (1973)