By Cecilia Evoy
Illustrations by Jahan, Kim K., Kardelen, Sultan, Polina, Deangelo and Jennifer Luu
Everyone feels displaced at some point. We feel like we are in the wrong place, the wrong situation, the wrong body, the wrong universe. My poems concentrate on that feeling of not belonging. Perhaps one thing that unifies us is that sometimes we all feel like we don't belong.
My biggest struggle with this project was finding the right places to rhyme. Many times where I first tried to rhyme, it served only as a distraction. I did find success, however, in communicating my theme.
took to the streets to see what life means.
August was born in Alaska.
She never liked it there.
The cold bit into her like thousands of spikes.
They slashed through her and she became
pretty ribbons dancing red in the snow.
August hated snow.
August hated ice.
She hated the colour white.
When her mom was in town,
and August was in the house alone,
she turned up the thermostat,
as far as it would go.
She stripped off her clothes and danced in her sweat,
Her skin glowing like the sun, glittering wet.
Her hair spun and tangled like bunches of thread,
her arms flung, catching dust in her hands.
August's mom goes out to town every week,
and every single time, August turns up the heat.
Teacher, Leave This Kid Alone
There's a child in a class too small,
he didn't like the attention at all.
Some called him gifted
his mother called him 'perfect.'
He was neither.
Teachers tried to tame him,
bring his hackles down,
but he was wise to them.
Mother made him morose,
always talking about his potential
about how he would be so influential.
In protest he went on a fast
until they put him in a regular class.
The Missing Mane
The cat stared idly out the window.
It could hear the dog next door barking at passersby.
What a stupid dog.
The cat jumped lazily off the sill.
It could smell its food, dry and tasteless.
How disgusting.
The cat clawed ferociously at the couch.
The fabric separated, giving him great satisfaction.
What an ugly couch.
The cat returned to the window.
He could see squirrels playing, he wanted to chase them.
I wish I was a lion.
The Paralysis
When Katherine was supposed to be asleep at night
she thought of castles, dragons and stone.
She thought of tiny dogs dragging large bones,
she thought of never being alone.
When Katherine fell asleep at night,
she dreamed of winged horses,
of fairies,
of witches.
She was a princess, riding into battle,
she was a beautiful kitchen wench.
When Katherine woke up
she went to school.
She drew pictures of her ladies in waiting,
her court-yard fools.
Katherine grew up
she still dreamed of castles, of dragons, of stone.
She still dreamed of not being alone.
Taxidermy
He was confounded, caged, confused.
He didn't know which book to use.
He felt crushed by so many people,
his arguments too weak, too feeble.
He wondered where to put his punctuation,
which Greek God was whom.
He didn't know if pharaohs were burned or buried in tombs.
He thought he could do this, but had been proven wrong.
He felt cornered, inadequate – he didn't belong.
Where had he been when they were learning this stuff?
Driving with Stacey to Scarborough Bluffs.
But he couldn't give up and go home to his old man,
with nothing but a summer tan.
Swans
A blank canvas stretched out in front of her.
A world of endless white.
She picks up her paint brush and dips it in red
her favourite colour.
It makes the canvas look like candy.
She adds blue, looking to make it less surreal.
Now it looks like a barber shop pole.
No matter how many colours she adds,
no matter how delicate the stroke,
it's never right.
The beautiful white is now shit brown.
She ruined it, ruined it.
She puts the brush down.
Small-Town Detroit
An obtuse Detroit swallowed a pencil.
She seasoned it with some fennel.
To hell with all this school.
The city called her name.
An angry Detroit put her fist through the wall.
Nashville wasn't supposed to be like this at all.
So she left there cursing and swearing,
she left so dangerous, so daring.
The big city got her down,
there were no cows to kick around.
Covered in mud, bathed in sludge
the big city was no place for Detroit.
A smarter Detroit went back home.
She even went to church to atone.
Back on the farm in suffocating air.
She felt so at home there.
Great poetry!
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