Darrell Epp
ON THE OCCASION OF LOSING ONE’S GUIDING LIGHT
the desire to change, to molt,
to sprout wings, to morph into
mythology puffs out my chest,
stiffens my spine, but i get so
distracted by j-lo’s divorce and
a remake of a remake that now
it’s time for bed and i haven’t
even shaved. ochre creeps along
the maples before their leaves
irrevocably fall into the gutters.
halloween trees look so naked
it’s hard not to laugh, or cry; it
depends. in grade ten science
class, lisa double-dared me to
stick my tongue down her throat.
endoplasmic reticulum, seminal
vesicles and what’s the difference
between mitosis and meiosis?
she had a thing for athletes. i
saw her at the dollarama, her
kids were alarmingly feral.
she was pale, paler as i stared
until she become translucent
as a jellyfish. the space station
that crashed into tamil nadu,
i’d been using it as a sort of
homing beacon. now it takes
twice as long to walk home.
i’ll trade you a stale-dated
manuscript and a sympathetic
smile for just one gold trophy.
it doesn’t have to be solid gold.
gold-plating or just a few strips
of gold paint will do. you can
even pick the sport, i’m easy.
Bio: Darrell Epp is the author of the poetry collection Imaginary Maps. His poetry has appeared around the world in places like Rhino, Poetry Ireland, Exile and Queen’s Quarterly.
Wild Goose Poetry Review 