(illustration by Thoreau MacDonald for Charles G.D. Roberts’ book The Iceberg and Other Poems, Ryerson, 1934)
Icebergs–there is always
so much we cannot see
or know of one another
even of ourselves.
I would think those
with imagination, love
faith, desire, and perspective
knew me best.
In the time it took
to understand, accept,
love and appreciate,
they knew who I was.
So I probably gave back, too,
yes, the empathic poet
and long-time lover
who loved most freedom.
That freeing of self and others
from this freezing limit and that
as we found our labyrinthine ways
with the grace and price of love.
And the power of words,
an articulate sharing of whatever
consciousness we lived–
as truths of our experience.
(for my mother, Rosalie Davies)