Curbside poem by Julia Schroeder

Everyone goes to Cuba; dances Salsa
eats Activia
puts away money
hires help
and defends their grass.

While old windows reflect, curbside
years of slipping clarity
wobble of atrophy in glass:

The sky is solid but can be shattered

There are wrinkles in telephone poles

Raccoons wait, treed, with small hands

The white dotted line separating “coming” and “going” bends.

I have a  BA (honours English) from the University of Calgary, and an MA in English from the University of Toronto. I’ve had poetry and essays published in many literary magazines and newspapers. I maintain a semi-parodic blog translating Marcus Aurelieus’s Meditations into “housewife”. A member of the Writer’s Guild of Canada since 2002, I’ve also written for film and TV. I live with my husband and sons in Hudson, Quebec.


One thought on “Curbside poem by Julia Schroeder

  1. jana konkin says:

    Hi Julia
    nice poem. How can i reach you. I’d like to catch up


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