by Deirdre Dwyer
On the screen part of me as one of the seas
of the moon, what astrologers see
when they look into their telescopes
and see night skies swimming by.
I have drunk oceans
of so many years
to look inside. . .
I thought ultrasounds were only
for pregnant women reassured
with floating images of their small wet miracles.
My ovary is a dime I've spent
and will spend again. And there's another bowl
of blood preparing to spill its routine.
Oh, if we were not creatures of habit...
If we could stare into the sun
and the lunar eclipse
and if we knew where the world's
water goes at low tide,
if we knew ourselves back
to the sounds of the original world,
if we knew what we could hear,
if we knew, what we would hear ?
This poem originally appeared in Canadian Literature #150 (Autumn 1996), Urquhart and Munro. (pg. 44)