Monday, September 20, 2010
I'm looking through a book of poems to find something contemplative and yet reflective for today.
This book, Nights On Prospect Street, by Heather Pyrcz (pronounced Perch) was published in 1999 in Wolfville, Nova Scotia. My husband, Ron, grew up in this town and on this street.
Heather Pyrcz lived across the street from Ron's mother. They were friends. After Ron's Mom died in 1998, Heather included a poem she wrote for Tommy (Ron's Mom) in her book.
Wolfville is a 'university town'. There is an influx of students every fall which certainly 'wakes up' this otherwise sleepy little town.
The poem is called Prelude on Prospect Street, in memory of Tommy Troke and here is part of it.
"......We've seen the students come and go
like Fundy tides----quick and high and utterly
predictable: in they come as green
as grass and young as spring and out
they go sobered by the weight of growing
old they hold behind their eyes......
"What have I known on Prospect Street? A friend
till yesterday when the black hearse pulled up to
Tommy's curb. A grey March day. Drizzling rain.
And in that moment, all I ever know of birth
and death and how the one engenders all the rest.
And love. All I'll ever know of love. How love
is all there is between the poles."