We sit at the foot of the white stairs
up and down which people leap in giant strides
or crouch in baby steps, high stairs
that lead to few rooms of art today as almost
everything’s put away for next month’s
show in new rooms up the hill
behind what was a church and now
a concert hall, what was a busy street
and now a pedway cut away
by steps, periodic tables on
the mountain slope. Our three heads
look one way, watching, while two more,
larger ones, not waiting here for anyone
or anything, attached to no history,
look back, one of each gender, heads
that have never lived on any street
or gone to any school, or church, or park,
chose no outfits for their visit here, as
they have no bodies to which they are attached,
have a detachment so innate their faces
tell no story. They have none.
Other faces, bodies, clothes, and histories
flash by like passing shows not part
of any permanent display. But here one
walks with Harvey’s shambling walk
so we jump up, catch the 24 on Sherbrooke St.,
stop for an ice cream cone in the last block
before we get home, caramel, they call it,
but it’s not sweet, more like a burnt sugar,
crême brulée, not what you’d expect.
Judy Gaudetis a poet living in PEI, who grew up in Montreal.
Chapbook, Poems You Say (Saturday Morning Chapbooks 2003)
Book, Her Teeth Are Stones (Acorn Press 2005).
Anthologies, The Poets of Prince Edward Island (Ragweed), Henry’s Creature (Black Moss), A Bountiful Harvest (Acorn), Landmarks: An Anthology of New Atlantic Canadian Poetry of the Land (Acorn).
Magazines, Quarry, Gaspereau Review, Windsor Review, ContemporaryVerse2, rhythm at Dal, famous reporter (Tasmania)