Antony Di Nardo: If it Weren’t for the Mouth of the St. Lawrence

IF IT WEREN’T FOR THE MOUTH OF THE ST. LAWRENCE

I’ve got a message for you, he said,
But saying it would take all the time in the world
So instead I wrote it on the face of the river,
A place Banksy hasn’t yet found.
I’ve got a message for you, but it’s deep in the bottle
I’ve set out to sea and certainly it’s deep
Down in the bowels of the sea by now
And it’s made of nothing but air I’ve set free
From this room, this mouth, this episode
I have on my mind, gaps between words.
And Purdy says Layton and Layton says Wallace,
What a world to witness with words say the records.
Love’s no machinery, but it works all the same.
Look to your feet says Li Po to show you the way.
Contents under pressure says the label, contents
For the pleasure of getting to know you, he said.
Yellow Istanbul, pastel of punches and powders,
Ochres and grains, makes for quite the sight, but
Your scarf’s in the way and you’re made of something
Purdy once said to all the Annettes. Daffodils
Are pretty snowflakes faking spring, yellow
Blunders dots and dashes in the garden
I’ve been writing all my life. I’ve got a message for you,
He said, but Purdy kept on writing and Wallace
Had one too and the river was blind with one
On the banks and all you had to do was drown
To gather up all the bottles, five cents a-piece at first
Then they were ten and you could bring them
In a shopping cart for a refund and they gave you
The money, they had to, like words come from
Someplace and the river’s always full of river,
The St. Lawrence swinging ‘round the island,
The poets in their pea-jackets, St. Urbain, St. Catherine,
St. Rose if you had to leave the city and go
Out of your way, a rosary for my sister, a hammer
For the fence painted husband gray and backyard
Mapping so you could get the message loud and clear,
Thirteen Blackbirds, thirteen years, thirty-three
When they finally looked in on me, my sister’s husband
Still believes even after Purdy, Wallace and Layton
The man and the message are the same.

Antony Di Nardo is a poet and teacher. He is the author of two collections of poetry, Alien, Correspondent (Brick Books) and Soul on Standby (Exile Editions). Another book, Roaming Charges, is forthcoming from Brick in 2015. His work appears widely in journals across Canada and internationally. He divides his time between Sutton, Quebec and Beirut where he teaches at International College.