a piece landed at your feet
like a blue bird’s wing,
which you picked up
and folded
into an uneven square,
pressed it into the breast pocket
of your plaid jacket,
the one you found
at the thrift store
on the discount rack,
it was too big but you liked
the way it hung
loose at the sleeves,
covering your hand’s thin bones,
which fluttered unexpectedly
especially when drinking tea,
causing it to slosh
onto the paper napkin,
this too you folded,
lining up the edges
into triangles –
a kite or a paper plane,
something to propel you
into that open space
untethered
♦♦♦
Joan Conway’s love for the culture and geography of Northern British Columbia strongly influences her work. She sees her writing as an avenue to create social change, build community, and to celebrate life. She is published in several anthologies and literary journals. Most recently her poetry appears in ‘don’t tell: family secrets’ (Demeter Press, 2022) and Dreamers Creative Writing Magazine, 2022, for her creative nonfiction. Joan recently launched her memoir ‘Weave As A River’, 2023.
She is the co-editor for Fresh Voices, an online publication for the League of Canadian Poets.
The Litter I See Project 