Fiction, nonfiction, and poetry from our favorite emerging writers
Happy February! We weren't paying attention on Groundhog Day, but here's hoping we only have six more days of winter instead of six weeks.
This week we have a lovely poem from Canadian poet Allan Lake. Lake's delicate words play with time and space, and we're sure you're going to love his work just as much as we did.
Happy reading, and have a wonderful weekend!
The Derailleur Press Team
My years back there are faded photos
so why are you here, brooding nearby
as I tend my garden? Surely nothing left
to say between lovers who lavished
on each other what was primal,
then, hemispheres apart,
Thought it just as well I was far away
at the pain-filled conclusion of your
abbreviated life. You weren’t alone.
Then, your voice/
/on my phone
planting words to keep me on the line.
Running out of days long before expected,
one thing became clear to you,
prompted you to call out across continents.
I thought we had both moved on,
left it in the past, but you, on the door-
step of death, used precious minutes
to sow seeds, stored though seasons.
They have taken root; I taste the fruit.
Allan Lake, originally from Saskatchewan, has lived in Vancouver, Cape Breton, Ibiza, Tasmania, W. Australia & Melbourne. Poetry Collection: Sand in the Sole (Xlibris, 2014). Lake won Lost Tower Publications (UK) Comp 2017, Melbourne Spoken Word Poetry Fest 2018 and publication in New Philosopher 2020. Latest Chapbook (Ginninderra Press 2020) My Photos of Sicily.