Ah, the familiar, the pluvial. It’s been a relief to have our typical weather return the last few days; dark, dreary, torrents of rain, which are thankfully washing away heaps of dirty snow, providing access to yard and property. A friend said yesterday that she would never complain about the rain again. I suppose we need to complain because if it’s not that, then of course there is always the government, the ferry or bad art.

I saw a physiotherapist yesterday about my right knee which I injured long ago at a Slits concert in San Francisco. I was too impatient to wait in the hideously long queue for the Ladies Room; so feeling very clever and rebellious decided to pee behind the rhododendrons in the churchyard next door. I wish I could remember the venue but I think it was the Geary St. Theatre-the People’s Temple. I suppose I could research that. Wherever it was, it was located next to a Catholic church, or cathedral would be more accurate. I have no qualms about peeing outdoors, was used to it after years of accompanying my father the bushwhacker. I will use whatever is at hand, toilet paper, napkins, tissue, newspaper, are bonus. I can recall climbing back over the tall, wrought iron fence and jumping down onto the sidewalk, which was a lot closer than it appeared in the shadows. My ankle gave way and I came straight down on my knee, whacked it incredibly hard on the concrete. I hobbled back to the show and was in pain for weeks afterward. I had no money to see a doctor but would get acupuncture for the pain in later years whenever it acted up. I had no problems for a long time but in the past six months or so, it has started locking up on me whenever I curl up on the couch to read or watch a movie. The cartilage gets locked and the pain is excruciating until it pops back into place, an audible *pop.* Keerist. So off to the physiotherapist, which I was surprised to find is not covered by BC Medical. She said it’s good that I’m taking care of it because it could disintegrate over time and develop into arthritis, my fear exactly. Going to work on being mobile for as long as possible. Use it or lose it as they say. I’m glad there is no osteoporosis in my family, that I know of. There is a host of other hazards in the gene pool-diabetes, heart disease, colon cancer but no osteo so I hope to avoid the hunched over old lady fate.  She gave me exercises which I haven’t attempted yet, need to find a ball.

Back to the tree book, after weeks of trying to get back to it. No wonder I’m always anxious, frustrated. In any case, that’s all I can call it right now for we can’t agree on a title. My collaborator Tina wants to call it “Bare” after one of the poems, I want to call it “Unfallen” unless I think of something better. It too is the title of one of the poems and makes more sense to me. As a play on words, it alludes to trees certainly, and logging, as in the “falling of a tree.” It hints at the feminine, as in “fallen woman,” but this title is proud, suggesting strength, tenacity, the abiding power of mother earth to remain, prevail, survive human folly, no matter how beset, the title of another one of the book’s poems. There is much melancholy here, and nostalgia for the trees, the forests, the way they were. My childhood. I felt so at ease in the woods. Safe. In all the time I spent in the forest I never encountered a bear or a cougar, got lost or in trouble. I did fall off a tall stump once and knocked the wind out of myself landing on an exposed root. There was much more peril at home. Here’s the first draft of today’s effort.

VICTOR

Coarsely fissured bole
bores, muscles
in on a finite niche,
damp
narrow
coastal
fog belt.
Hardy,
assurgent,
frontal as weather
prehensile Pan
grasps blundering larvae
tosses spider mites.
Spared by the hand fallers
for his perceived charm,
resin exuding from wounds,
multifarious bush ape
trounces rot,
blister rust.
Flourishes.