
‘Ask me anything’ and other poems
By: Stephen Joffe
ASK ME ANYTHING
before it was intractable
how swiftly did it move,
& move me?
i cage the sparrow
softly in my hand –
to what god rise the prayers of prey
when their stomach swells with blood
to breaking?
does it sleep
like morning does
in the hollow
between a mark & a stain?
is the question holy?
does it weigh more
than a stone- not of, but upon you?
(when you arrive at a thing
& it is what it should be
doesn’t it feel like
nothing is there?)
is there another word for your name?
CAN I TELL YOU
listen, listen-
there are several shells on a bedside table.
i do not know how many.
i do not know which came first.
i do not know the name of the place that each will answer to if called.
but i do know that if you press your ear against the wood beneath
you can hear the oceans harmonize.
that if you walk far enough in any direction
you will find the same place.
that all things are made of one thing, and that thing is death
and it is nothing to be ashamed of.
you must remember.
none of this is yours,
none but the witnessing of it.
JANUARY 2ND, WHEN WE BEGIN
there is one quiet gift
in the new years day hangover
(& yes, thank god it is quiet)
– that is
the irrefutability of a soft start.
we do not need another year
that is ours. we have enough of those
tucked, broken in the closet
replaced by newer versions we so quickly
broke again.
instead-
i will take your year,
if you are ready to part with it.
& i will calm the frayed edges,
make them whole again.
we need to graze on this life
as deer do in the far field
occasional. uninvited, but unimposing.
sun dappled despite our need.
let it come to you,
there is no rush ?
there is no rush.
& no good thing
begins in shame, nor desperation-
let endings be endings.
watch them go a while, wave gently.
& when they are gone, clean up.
& when that is done, look back to the door,
it is still open.
FRIED CHICKEN OMELETTE.
i drank tequila
at an afters in spain
deaf in one ear
mute in the other
purple lights
swimming indelicately above me
stepped outside
to smoke against an ancient cathedral like
‘oh, you come here too’
& it all felt like
a fried chicken omelette
the blasphemous
divine
every day we stray further from
& every day
He follows.
CONTAINMENT
good love: the skin
that keeps our blood from pouring out to
wind, & bones from scattering across
the wide channels of year. not hard but unflinching,
porous. she grows around me, & i her:
expanding on each others respiration.
i used to fear containment,
as the restless fear rest (what then is left?)
but i lean into the chair,
& suddenly am falling-
the back nor body where i left them-
& you have me, don’t you?
laughing,
it is not so bad, after all
to have a home
to set long hands by the fire
& mix your future with your present
& know the joy of keeping.
there are places that you inhale,
or places that you exhale,
here is one to simply breathe.
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Stephen Joffe is an award-winning actor, musician, writer, and sound designer based in Toronto. He has previously been published as a playwright, songwriter (Birds of Bellwoods, etc.), and poet.
Stephen Joffe’s poems are stunning! What a rich experience, reading them together here.