Is it time, you may ask?  

In my dream my father slung

one leg over the bicycle frame

turned to wave goodbye

and I knew I was not ready for him to die

not ready to hear the red dread snarl

from the blackness outside

the circle of light

When I was a child my grandfather fashioned me

a zigzag set of teeth from an orange peel

I grow old      I grow old

        finalement      je comprends

This might not be the life I want for my last days

I face my fate and yet and yet

I will not do any yoga today

I will not write

I will not walk the talcum-powder soft sand

of a california beach or eat a fresh picked

peach or watch orange ball sink

into sky of red-black

I will shower, eat my toast, try to silence

the beast in its mangy coat

with blood-stained yellowed teeth

who stands waiting outside the orange glow of light — of life

and beseech him to grant me

more time

This poem was born of a dream based on a photograph of my father as a young man in Belgium.
— Josephine LoRe

A pearl in this diamond world… Josephine LoRe is a poet, performer, writer, and teacher enjoying the subtleties and complexities of life through love and language. Josephine received the Norma Epstein award for poetry when she was in her third year at U of T. Visit Josephine’s website: