HOW TO KNOW A SINGLE TREE After entering a small parental forest for some reason I see an Australian desert and hear a story about a woman who sought the shade of a single tree. I don't know if she found it. Inside the actions of Autumn leaves choosing their colours, choices they only share with the branches left behind. All of the shaded floor covered by what the sun once shared with flows underground, the keepers of the length green dominated how the wind sounds, roots slowing, heat going somewhere. I see my hand choose the one. May bark always feel friendly, how it tells the man in me this is the one, others then disappear so I too sit leaning against a lone tree, ending any loneliness, all of the forest gone somewhere to offer another explorer the chance to know, to breathe and thank it for the air each breath, now, is alone with. THE CROW'S ECHO I've come looking for a poem and found a white eraser left on the sidewalk. What a child has left behind leaves me pondering, "Do I know the sky?" Crow, I see now a difference in reliance as I call and call. Being between empty buildings my voice is stopped not by the appearance of you, no, leading one of my ears to a door, leaving each caw sounding as if it echoes through what I peer into and would say are rooms and a hallway. I stop and smile, briefly, ask out loud, asking someone, "Try to imagine the crow's echo, try to, just once." WEE AIDEN for my grandson Arrival, finally, no more womb no more being under the waters mother could grow you within, the capsule where you began to hear a life other than the constant pulse as the heart in you grew to tap, to soothe all yearnings for a fainter light seen more and more as your eyes were given sight, led the mind you began to trust, wait to hear from, scenes containing figures moving, those around you waiting, you a center, you an anticipation, you alive, you watching like a relative behind a wall. Welcome, finally, no more journey, no more being under skin, hidden, unborn, mother has brought us to a door, mother wants an introduction I want, I await a signal from both of your parents, I await a tidbit of news on how you smile, or what finger you point at the world, gurgling, quiet at night while a space in the air becomes that spot where we will always find you, living, questing, wise to accept the position of being next, being curious enough to seek my embrace. Villa Victoria Truro, NS May 5, 2005
Chad Norman lives beside the high-tides of the Bay of Fundy, Truro, Nova Scotia.
He has given talks and readings in Denmark, Sweden, Wales, Ireland, Scotland, America, and across Canada.
His poems appear in publications around the world and have been translated into Danish, Albanian, Romanian, Turkish, Italian, and Polish.
His collections are Selected & New Poems ( Mosaic Press), and Squall: Poems In The Voice Of Mary Shelley, is now out from Guernica Editions.