1. |
Tortured Logic
04:51
|
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2. |
Vigilance
04:32
|
|||
|
Carefully-spaced dogberries mark the path
to get back home, they would still be there tonight
not even the jays would eat them
not even in this time of hungry.
On my neck I carry a whistle
gold, heavy, inscribed
with my mother’s maiden
name a gift from her lover when she was still
a girl with soft arms with hair that still blew easily
in the wind before they were stiff and witch-like
I try to go home. The dogberries are gone.
I blow four times to tell her, I am lost
just as we had agreed...
blow in irregular meter don’t you make it
too obvious that you are there,
she said
toot too toooot
toooo too toot
here’s a pocket knife to whittle arrows
hide behind a tree and let it rip,
to ttttto whooooooo
also don’t ever let anyone see you
be always vigilant yes
even in these woods
haven’t you heard of Agafia Lykov
you can be a four day canoe trip
away from the nearest threat
in the middle of the Taiga
and still be woken up at night,
defenceless.
|
||||
3. |
Forking Path
04:51
|
|||
4. |
Hexensee
04:23
|
|||
5. |
Distant Porchlight
06:14
|
|||
|
I tiptoe through the woods covering our tracks like those pups
hiding from Cruella’s cronies as we make our way next door
I am Perdita he is Lucky
.
when we get there
to her mother’s house
there are no toys yet we have
plenty
to get through these times of
.
the porchlight a disco ball
spots both still and kinetic
us moths dead or panicked
eyes glued to a distant porchlight up the hill
watching to see if he would try
to come inside
|
||||
6. |
Eyes of Children
06:07
|
|||
|
hand-sharpened pencils,
erasers a hundred years old,
grey from rubbing out
the eyes of children who see
too much, made from actual
gum chewed up probably by us
spit out then hardened,
the pink kind that comes with a joke
like that one about a mother
who stayed behind
as her children went off to be safe
|
||||
7. |
Bottomlessness
04:18
|
|||
|
under a skinny moon we dipped
our bodies into a shaking pond
flopping belly down into an open wound in the mountain
were mountains of visiting teens enjoying near-darkness
a mysterious place your fresh water holds heat so well
the red rocks ate them up quick and spit our
bones all over the meadow;
mosquitos having made quick work
of so much young flesh
the mosquitos fly overhead
exploding, dropping little blobs of teen blood
staining the clothes left empty on the grass
our mothers said bottomlessness
is in the pond so don’t fall in
love what you’ve got already on land
there may be more than this but
who are you to want to find it?
|
||||
Door Lock St. John'S, Newfoundland and Labrador
We are a two member band from St. John's, Newfoundland. Cold Storage was recorded for the 2018 RPM
Challenge.
Maggie Burton:
vocals, violin
Chris McGee:
instruments, production
... more
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