Joe Dimalley-o: an air letter

By | 1 December 2010

to juanita

late fall if i can call it that
not that the weather cares
making a mess of main park

know you’re not at home?
at the streetcar stop wear the effects
of the bloor street snowplough’s bow wave

in a bilingual province
i know half the language

though the written world
in parallel text
seemed somehow sympathetic

emotional distance – is always
in miles and if the island prison
library’s an escape

writing the air letter was
taking my homesickness pills
or you write i wait

but it’s not us just the mail
the more prescient of beginnings
dear j, hope this letter finds you

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