Vol. I No. I |
September
1999
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The
Danforth Review
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Blue by Carrie Snyder morning arrives it is stupid and glorious, this thing brazening through the windows it's a passing car loaded with strangers howling joy or grief who can tell your boyfriend turns to you and asks why are you so goddam sad all the time and you say i don't know your coffee is black, dammit, black and you like it best that way your entrance into this world need not echo any martyr-like presumptions i don't care if it makes sense, you say and he turns to you and asks why are you so blue in his vocabulary blue means down & out piece of poo, sit and stew in yours it's this: indigo, smelt leather, foul foul wind over a field of grain, waist-high grain, green and growing grain darkened by summer, a promise you can't keep a promise you cannot keep i love you i'll be there for you i mean it why suffer that way, why open your skin to such opportunities for betrayal ahhh, you sigh you prepare yourself for explanations you pretend it might matter on income tax forms the edge enters and you relax over it you relax into it Carrie Snyder works in the Books Section of the National Post. Poems appeared in spring '99 issue of the The New Quarterly. THIS WORK IS COPYRIGHT OF THE AUTHOR.
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THE DANFORTH REVIEW IS EDITED BY MICHAEL BRYSON.