Archive for April, 2025

In this cruellest month,
the icy breeze sparkles
like mica
and hints of glaciers on its breath
as yet another false spring
suffocates under wet snow
as heavy as
three decades of missing you.

A widow’s grief cycles in seasons,
joy brief as summer,
and then too many cold dark days
without your warm grin to turn to,
the sun caught on your freckles,
and in the amber of your eyes.

I ache for you still,
your arms the only true home
I’ve known.
I imagine a life where
we aged together,
celebrated milestones,
laughed about grey hairs
and shared stories –  
a longing as tragic
and futile
as sending messages to Heaven
by balloon.  

♦♦♦

Dymphny Dronyk is a Qualified Mediator and is also a poet, editor, translator, and a story doula. She is passionate about the magic of story and has woven words for money and for love for more than 30 years. She has facilitated unique writing and conflict management workshops across Canada. Her volume of poetry, Contrary Infatuations, (Frontenac House) was short-listed for the Pat Lowther Award and the Stephan G. Stephansson Award for Poetry. She is co-publisher and co-editor at House of Blue Skies Publishing, whose bestselling anthologies include 2014’s The Calgary Project – A City Map in Verse and Visual. Dymphny has served on the boards of the Southern Alberta Brain Injury Society, Writers’ Guild of Alberta, the League of Canadian Poets, and the Creative Nonfiction Collective.

photo credit: Sheree Gillcrist

A dropping, a spilling,
a shame. A child
or a grown up who wishes
they hadn’t.
A tut at the ground
and a sigh at the sky,
as you scurry to work,
at the mess, at the waste
of a puzzle that could
have been solved.
Someone might stop
to retrieve all the pieces,
though you can tell
just by looking it’s not whole
and who would have time?
Someone might find
a moment to flip the square
blank board with a toe
to see what’s on the other side,
wince at the ghastly cute pug
someone could probably love,
wonder why the painter played
with such decorative, garish perspective.
You might bend quickly to pick
the picture up, angle it behind
the railings to lean it up out of the rain
that’s one hundred per cent
forecast to fall.

♦♦♦

Joanna Lilley is the author of three poetry books, including Endlings (Turnstone Press) which is all about extinction and won the Fred Kerner Book Award. She’s also published a novel, Worry Stones (Ronsdale Press), and a short story collection, The Birthday Books (Hagios Press). A settler from the UK, Joanna lives with gratitude in Whitehorse, Yukon, Canada, on the Traditional Territories of the Kwanlin Dün First Nation and the Ta’an Kwäch’än Council.

She can be found at www.joannalilley.com

Image courtesy of Leona Theiss.