Two Poems

by Jaime Forsythe

Jaime Forsythe’s poems have appeared in This Magazine, The New Quarterly, Carousel, Exile, and The Antigonish Review. She is currently packing boxes of books, in preparation for a move from Kingston to Halifax.

Saturday Afternoon Collision

On one side of the street, a juror checks her watch.
On the other, a truck reels into a tollbooth,
but no one is hurt. Tokens settle into potholes.
Every person who runs past us
is someone I used to know.
We opt for the cinema. Our tickets instruct,
do not laugh and do not stop,
our fortunes in the portions ripped away.
To stay here forever would be a crime,
but what you love is everything giant
and loud, the space between rumble
and hush, the burst of feathers,
the applause at our backs.

 

Real Life Phrases In Everyday English

Heather concluded the fugue with a tympani solo.
Claire gave a speech in her own language, with gestures.
George dreamt of the apothecary where his whims were once met.
Felicia’s test results revealed that she did not have typhoid.
Henry argued that the platypus could only be classified as a hoax.
Gloria ordered smoked eel, visited a castle, and appeared onstage.
Alan was a dentist and a father, but mostly a dentist.
Errol imagined his teeth shaking free, white scattered in the wheat.
Naomi’s children began to say things she did not understand.
Susanne peeled oranges while watching the war on television.
Anne adopted a name she would never again have to repeat.

 


Jaime Forsythe’s poems have appeared in This Magazine, The New Quarterly, Carousel, Exile, and The Antigonish Review. She is currently packing boxes of books, in preparation for a move from Kingston to Halifax.

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