So… what happened there? Well,
Doves dove head-long
Into beehives,
With knees high—
Crashed into knife fights.
Hit the decks
Eating mud-cakes.
Chugged along for some while,
A cylinder down,
And luggin’ a hex,
Aggressively flexing blue Camels, dromedaries
And other sundries
–All out the window.
But winter’s packed it in,
It’s done: you’ve lost a rare woman
Full of recessive traits.
Air out the boots,
And bleach the converse on the porch.
Try to look up, now.
After a winter of crying your eyes shut,
Scratch the scruff,
Count your pennies
Convert your luck
And try to move past the rough stuff.
Maybe put out the linens,
To christen-in the breeze,
When your head feels
A little too lived-in.

ANTOINE VANDENBORRE was born in Paris, but his family is from Belgium. When he was an infant, he moved to Singapore, where his brother was born and where he grew up until he came to Montreal to attend university. He has introduced himself like that so many times that it’s begun to sound simplistic and jaded. But writing gives longevity to the things he’s experienced, from planting trees in Northern Ontario to, yes, being heartbroken. Writing bats away nostalgia and keeps memories honest. It’s also a chance to keep the banal and the all-too-common, beautiful. In his poetry, he’s found an aesthetic of his own, which he hopes begins to do this, and he’d like to share some with you.

Copyright © 2018 by Angela Vandenborre. All rights reserved.