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  He’s my brother. I always thought

  he was the favourite one, the one

  they really wanted. I did not think

  of what I might have looked like to him.

  He is looking on in this photo, sitting

  on a park bench. He does not have a bike

  of his own. It is the same with his clothes.

  The clothes he wore had been mine,

  green overalls, blue shirt, all the winter jackets

  and snowsuits. Never knowing the feel of new

  things. Even the haircut he has is mine.

  In a few years, he too will have this bike.

  But no one will have taken the time to teach

  him how to ride it without the training wheels

  because they had come off years before. He

  will ride this bike as I left it, like everything else

  I had, and it will still be pink and the flowers printed

  will still be there. There will be no picture of that day.

  There is only a picture of this day.

  This day of him sitting on the park bench alone,

  hands in his lap, looking on and waiting for his turn.

  GAYATRI

  I have a picture of us when we are seven

  but we aren’t in it. At the time it was taken

  we thought we were. We posed with our wide

  grins and best-friends-forever certainty. I angled

  the camera to capture us in front of a Christmas tree.

  All the sparkling tinsel and dangling silver balls aren’t there.

  There is only the ceiling and the tip

  of the pine needle. There isn’t a star or an angel

  on top. I have kept this picture of us for years,

  the only one to remember and laugh at what happened

  to us then. It was taken before a time you could

  see a picture on a screen, see how it turned out

  and decide whether it was worth keeping. I think of you

  now and again, the plain peanut butter sandwiches we ate

  with apples. You said you were going to be a dentist

  when you grow up, and with a fork and a spoon

  you determined it was possible I would live

  and sent me home with a bag full of Twizzlers and hair bands.

  ZEVART

  Every day at lunchtime, you gave me half

  your sandwich. I never went hungry because

  of you. I remember your cowboy boots, the ones

  you liked in grade eleven, the time we sat together

  on the stage at the last dance

  waiting for someone to ask us. We walked

  home together every day for thirteen years, saved

  our pennies and tallied up enough

  to buy a Hot Lip candy we could split. You know,

  I still have the letters you wrote to me, the ones

  you’d fold over six times to form a small pyramid.

  They all seem to say the same thing inside about love,

  how it can’t be hurried, how there can only be one,

  and today could be the day that changes everything.

  BROKERAGE REPORT III

  Yield. Energy prices sank

  today. Focus on rising

  earnings instead. Bigger

  profits and a higher finish.

  Minimize costs, be efficient.

  Turbines and plastics,

  steel and rubber, scrap metal.

  Oil futures fell sharply.

  The standard. Adjust profits,

  move margins, beat

  projections. Investors are

  concerned, analysts expect.

  The index gave up and closed.

  Yield. Bond prices can turn.

  Tariff wars, but copper remains.

  BROKERAGE REPORT IV

  After disclosures, figures

  are up. A year ago

  trends revealed

  flattened growth. This

  morning we reported.

  Our recommendation

  is to hold. The dive in price

  plunges below expectation.

  We cannot expand. There

  are limits. Raise questions.

  Compound bad news. Veiled

  numbers at this point

  remain veiled. Net loss

  should narrow property.

  This shift should emphasize

  appeal. Blame workers

  and redesign the universe.

  Curate material, side-step

  the issue. Caution growth.

  Continue and remain within

  margins. Standard and poor.

  NINE O’CLOCK

  It is nine o’clock

  and it has been

  nine o’clock all day

  The battery gone

  unplugged perhaps

  the metal plates

  turning underneath

  stopped the tick-tock

  It would be unwise

  to say it’s incorrect

  because it is nine

  o’clock somewhere

  or for someone it’ll

  become nine o’clock

  or nine o’clock will

  get to be for someone. It’s

  the start of the working

  day where time is money

  and money is time or

  the end of the day if

  the day was for working

  or counting up that way

  What time it really is

  I don’t know and can’t tell

  It could very well be

  nine o’clock but I can’t say

  with much certainty or

  confidence in that matter

  If I were to look outside

  for the shade and shadow

  around where I stood

  I wouldn’t see it on the ground

  in front of me. And from

  where I stood and was standing

  I couldn’t look behind

  or bring myself to turn

  WHALES

  I can spot the whales

  They come up for air

  A sprout in the ocean

  I tell everyone to look

  But by the time they turn

  The whales have gone back

  I have spotted about five

  Now, they don’t even have

  To show themselves

  I know they are there

  The seagulls circle them

  Waiting for what they didn’t kill

  LANDING

  When flying make

  allowances for

  the direction of wind

  Know the speed

  and direction of

  a plane in still air

  Know where the wind

  will push off, know

  the course you set

  for yourself

  Compensate and fly

  in the direction

  of the vector,

  refer to diagrams

  and express each sum,

  aim always to land

  MANUAL FOR DIVING

  The centre of gravity on a diving body

  Is somewhere in the middle of the gut

  This is a point that is fixed

  The arms rotate, the legs stay together, toes point

  Once you enter the water whatever you do then

  Doesn’t count, won’t be marked, won’t be for the judge

  There are no points for what your body didn’t do

  Or for what your body could do in the routine

  All the points are for what you do on the springboard

  And the space your leap takes up

  Points for how you lean, how you rotate and spin, and when

  Even how you enter the water and the splash you make

  There are no points once you’re under

  What you do there won’t cost you a thing

  ANTS

  I had

 
been

  thinking

  of

  my own

  funeral

  and what

  that

  would

  look like

  I want

  it

  to be

  like this

  Someone

  would

  take

  notice

  and turn,

  order

  the others

  to get

  in

  the line

  and take

  me

  from where

  I’d been

  And all

  would

  pass

  the body

  back

  down

  one by one

  by one

  until I reached

  the last

  There,

  I’d be

  lowered

  into soil

  and I

  would

  fill

  the hole

  I didn’t

  make

  BROKERAGE REPORT V

  Workers at the mine are on strike.

  There is gold at the site. Machines

  were delivered last quarter. It was

  all set to rise. This delay should

  not worry investors. New workers

  are being brought in. There are

  proposed purchases and plans,

  collapsed acquisitions, but we remain

  positive and project. Gold is not

  an upstart in this decade. A new

  empire will not rise and become

  a digital asset in this field. There

  is nothing digital about gold. We

  cannot emphasize rocks and form.

  We will continue and oversee,

  operate and focus, and take aim.

  The stakes are high. It had long

  been anticipated for closure, but

  we will not dismantle our deal.

  Our profits remain at the site.

  PICTURE OF US

  in Florida, at Busch Gardens.

  I am twelve, standing in tall

  grass by a roller coaster. I am

  wearing a T-Shirt, the word EARTH

  printed at its centre.

  The letters are so big

  there isn’t room for anything

  else. Underneath are my

  shorts, yellow circles

  splattered across the front.

  This is the outfit I wear all summer.

  It’s what I wear when we walk out

  into the ocean floor at low-tide

  looking for a conch.

  The bigger, more beautiful ones

  are farther out. I won’t notice

  how far I’ve gone. By the time

  I find one the tide had come back in.

  A shark’s grey tail circles me. I

  know it is the blood between my legs.

  I am not alone. A pod of dolphins come,

  circling and signalling on some

  ancient frequency. I get to shore,

  conch shell in hand, and hold it to my ear.

  Ear on ear

  I hear only my own breathing.

  MY MOTHER’S HOUSE

  I dreamt of you this early morning

  You were living in squalour

  The bed you slept on wasn’t made

  Someone had left a puddle in it

  This room you lived in was small

  No windows or fixtures on the ceiling

  You had not wanted me to see you like this

  And took me into another room

  This one had high ceilings and hardwood floors

  There was a painting on the wall

  It wasn’t yours

  All the things you made weren’t there

  I did not ask if you were happy

  I knew you were not, not even close

  You told me you were sorry

  You always do

  You live here now

  I wasn’t surprised, and, in fact, it made sense

  In this small room

  In a house my mother made for you in my dreams

  NANDU

  That year there was

  a rhinoceros born

  at the zoo. He weighed

  140 pounds. They say

  he gains five pounds

  per day. He was named

  Nandu, which means

  one who is cheerful

  and happy. I like

  the name. It suits him.

  I went to visit him

  and signed up for

  a membership card.

  I was worried it was too

  cold and he’d be indoors,

  but there he was,

  in the open. He looked

  right at me and trotted

  over. He lifted his head

  and I could look at his face.

  Then, he turned from me

  and went back to his life

  and let out gas. It was

  putrid, natural, I guess.

  Like a mother, I said,

  Let it out, let it all out.

  I told my mother

  what happened. She

  laughed and said,

  “No one wants to be

  a mother. You don’t know

  until you are.”

  A PEBBLE

  has

  so much

  to say

  You

  threw it

  out

  across water,

  thinking

  it couldn’t

  do anything there,

  but it lifted

  itself up

  and took

  down

  a gulp

  you couldn’t

  keep sunk

  O

  When this letter is written out by hand

  Where it begins and ends land in the same place

  It is a gesture to single out what isn’t perfect

  It marks an outside and an inside

  And you get to decide where that is

  It means what it says

  It’s so matter-of-fact

  Upper case or lower case it still looks the same

  Sometimes it’s a number signifying nothing

  Until it’s an investment return

  Any other figure followed by 0 pushes its value higher

  It is a mark of temperature

  A degree to balance the consequence of liquid states