2 Poems by Caitlin Thomson

Space is not Equal To Y or X

I wake to the world
constructed without dreams,
the one I left to dust itself
off in blue exhaustion.

Uncorked wine, just a
glass gone, rind of cheese,
hunk of bread tilted sideways,
The exoskeleton of
grapes, vine left without
a clue to their color.

The rains of winter descend
outside, and I am
unbalanced, in wool socks
waiting for distance
to become time.


The Luxury of Death

People often say it is unknowable
but Death has an Encyclopedia
entry.  More than a few books
were written about Death. Far more
were published with it in mind.

The main problem with Death,
written or otherwise, seems to be
conflation, the frequent combination
of Death with what comes next.
As if an afterlife (or lack of one),
was any of Death’s business.
As if dying in itself was not,
often, a lot of work.

[The poems have been published before. The first in the Literary Review of Canada, the Second in Punchnell's.]


Bionote

My Bio is as follows: Caitlin Thomson resides in the Chuckanut Mountains. Her work has appeared in numerous places, including: The Literary Review of Canada, The Alarmist, and the anthology Killer Verse. Her second chapbook Incident Reports is forthcoming in 2014 from Hyacinth Girl Press. You can learn more about her writing at www.caitlinthomson.com.