So, by Roy Geiger

So
 
everything grows I know that and I cannot tell you often enough    my friend Dalton would tell you that     dapper and sharp at 90 resilient resourceful long-time master of heavy machinery remembering even after the war which of course means the late 40s and beyond he’d be digging out giant stumps still left from the first settler clearing seventy-five and a hundred years previous each one a good day’s work at that
 
everything still grows so tell me, Ramon Fernandez, tell me if you can     symmetry of order cast aside Spring Blue-Eyed Mary gone missing with Acadian Flycatcher where can we balance this thirst to clear space open space against thick growth relentless in which an unwary unskilled person no matter the intention would certainly be lost please find them who can
 
yet here I am now considering the beadwork-style painting with every detail connecting a tapestry cerulean warbler that bird of mid and upper story shown right at the root from which everything grows as if to say here collapse perspective look across not up everything together and equal     look again can you balance all with the common the ordinary the Mourning Dove in flight at the centre a bird you once scorned until you heard the cherished Cape Dove in South Africa and thought wait a minute and the brilliant Sumac the Robin you might see first  
 
what is ordinary I think on the drive to town my bucket of bolts I can’t relinquish that old red peony the yellow flowers next to it (look them up) ah yes sulphur cinquefoil apparently invasive but lovely those plain roses single-petalled and blooming pink all at once and just once without trace of disease the plain ragged expanse of everything those tiny brown-orange Skippers that come out mid-June everywhere fluttering a few inches above crushed gravel all across all along the road crowding the pale underside of pointed at both ends skinny willow leaves (check order) Saskatoon berries Common Yellowthroat wichety wichety in the grassy thicket along the yard butterfly yellow the big one whose name I never remember (Canadian Tiger Swallowtail) flying through and over those many small ones in motion of which there are more in this warm sun than you can possibly take in and hold so even though you will soon dive back into reference material and wonder what is the pattern you must let that go     admit you must let that go and yes try to join in     breathe while you can join in    no hierarchy    join in
 
Roy Geiger
 

A former college English teacher, Roy Geiger lives in London, Ontario, and spends a lot of time on Manitoulin Island. He has volunteered on the board of several long-standing reading series, including Antler River Poetry. His short fiction has been anthologized and published in Grain, The Antigonish Review, and the temz review. ​