Christine Lowther
Ablaze with Certainty*
Eighteen beaded spiderwebs brought forth
from vapour and mist
observed through the crimson lattice
of a broken heart
Countless emerald strands of eel-grass
trailing from loose ropes,
the heart’s rupture fraying
Six dragons of golden bullkelp
caught, swirling, between flotation logs
the heart listlessly following
Dependable tide, ebb and flow, no surprises
this heart easily, predictably, repeatedly broken
Night-heavy ocean offers luminescent embers
smouldering on anchor lines, a close universe crowding
coruscating constellations erupting
yet this heart will not be lifted
it flounders in black water
unsophisticated sluggish beats like the moon jelly
without its grace a petticoat of pain
Save me, spoiled heart, full heart and broken,
defeated, angry heart, annihilated;
proudly scarred,
patchwork raggedy-ann heart
untangle and mend, break through the fog
swim your way clear
Eight Storeys High 250 Metres Down
Poem for Globally Unique, Threatened Glass Sponge Reefs off BC’s Coast
Millions of years ago Earth was Ocean
and two übercontinents, shelved
by a single silica sponge reef
stretching hemispheres,
the only glass in existence
giving birth to a planet’s future.
Glass reefs: extinct for 40 million years…
Merely a scientist, I glance again at a photograph
deep down in the Danube Valley — a monastery, dwarfed
by high cliffs where pale fossilized reefs
*************************************************hang
********************************************************in the sky.
In Spain, there is a castle built upon glass.
What was once alive under the sea now stares blankly
through air. Shrubbery frames what used to hide fishes,
their beautiful colours, their elegant fins.
At last a day dawns
when living glass reefs 9,000 years old
are found eight storeys tall
off Canada’s west coast.
I squeeze into a submarine built for two
shrugging off my claustrophobia
plunge into Hecate Strait
press my forehead against the window.
250 metres down, I meet my dinosaurs face to face,
alive.
Luna’s skin
Luna the orca 1999-2006
Whales are approaching
crossing the sky in heraldic procession
graceful zeppelins
our silent saviours
they sense the barrier between our species dissolving
they see the cedar boughs draped
over dugout canoes
they take in the flowers and bouquets of flowers
strewn over the wide surface of the water
tear-shaped petals scattered
Someone dives into the ocean looking for Luna:
a streaming skeleton surfaces,
whale-sized cave of bones emerging
but it is only the curved ribs of tree branches
barnacles clinging to grey cedar
We are always too late
smuggling in friendship
a clandestine love between species
expressed via touch
how else to soften the barrier
caress it into membrane:
in caring, we momentarily
perceive the other world
involuntarily
silence its music
In life, in the cold water,
Luna’s skin was warm
~~~~~~~~
Christine Lowther is the author of My Nature, New Power and co-editor and co-author of Writing the West Coast: In Love with Place. Her work has been featured on CBC Radio and published in anthologies and periodicals including Salt in Our Blood, Wild Moments: Adventures with Animals in the North, The Fiddlehead, Risking for Change, The Beaver, Crowlogue, Walk Myself Home and The New Quarterly. Currently she is co-editing a second anthology on west coast identities.
