The selections in this issue’s Poetry Corner are from Canadian author Laura Lush. They come from a collection called Carapace.
Welcome – how wonderful to have you back.
The selections in this issue’s Poetry Corner are from Canadian author Laura Lush. They come from a collection called Carapace, and they are special to me for a few reasons, not the least of which happens to be I attended the book launch for this collection on a cold November evening at the Women’s Bookstore in Toronto in 2011. The author has written many beautiful poems since, but I chose to read through my hard copy of Carapace for a few unforgettables, and the lovely, heavy pages did not disappoint.
Carapace is dedicated to the memory of Curt Lush, the poet’s brother, who is the subject of the first selection “First Born”. I wonder if the red tailed fox in the second selection, “Fox” might somehow be representative of him, too. Laura Lush teaches Creative Writing at the University of Toronto, School of Continuing Studies. We thank the poet for her permission to reprint these poems here.
If you’re a poet, please send me your work by clicking HERE.. I’ll publish two poems per issue. The only stipulation is you must make my heart move a little. I hope the following two selections do this for you:
My brother came first, the one who had to brave the distance
between the farmhouse and the end of the laneway
each morning. The one who had to defend my sister and me
when we pelted cars with snowballs, knock down the paperboy
for stealing my wallet. Go to Cubs, learn to light fires,
protect my mother from door-to-door salesman.
Hold a hockey stick even though he didn’t want to.
Shake hands with uncles, admire their wide-belled ties.
Learn to drive, squeal tires, walk the dog,
Chase it back home again. Had to swallow the worst
of the family traits. Like a snake swallowing frogs.
Had to do everything first. And right.
Walk that long lane alone. One foot in front of the other,
wolves nipping at his heels.
By Laura Lush
When the fox died,
the whole forest died.
What was it about the fox?
Clever, for sure; wit enough
to hole all of his body in dirt.
Every now and then, that tail –
spuriously red, flashing through trees.
Damn pretty shame
of it all.
By Laura Lush
