Geo, Kampala, Pacifica, Creation & December
Poetry by Morgan Govier
Untitled by Ronan Canniff
Geo
It takes eighty million years
for a mountain to become sand.
Eighty million years
for grains to form, so gentle,
they can be lifted off by the wind.
You’d never think
that earth’s sturdiest structures
are susceptible to wear and tear,
and even demise,
but erosion begs to differ.
I’m jealous of the mountains—
they have so long to come to terms
with wearing down.
As for me, I’m a mountain
for just a moment. I close my eyes,
and then I’m sand.
Kampala
Do you remember
the red soil earth
smeared on white shoes?
Our sap-licked fingers
wiping our cheeks clean
of the sugar cane juice
drip-dripping down our chins.
This is the place
I fell in love with you again.
Do you remember
the back of the boda ride
and our dirt road drives?
My hair and the wind whipping,
whipping and you didn’t mind.
This is the place I left you again.
Red-cheeked smiles
under mosquito nets,
suns setting on tired hands,
sleep-filled eyes.
Do you remember
what it felt like
when I said goodbye?
This is the place
you will always be mine.
Pacifica
I love the way the ocean
used to smile at me;
I love the way it laughed
at all of God’s less powerful creations.
It's hard to trust something
that remains so peaceful
after destruction,
but I admit I’ve been envious
of its pride. It’s hard not to miss
the way it gulped down its enemies,
revelled in its own body,
breathed in its own skin.
It’s been six months
since I’ve let its salt sting my wounds,
but if there is one thing the ocean
has taught me in my absence,
it’s that it’s much easier
to exist away from things
I used to love.
Creation
My heart aches for something
I have never had
Memories tug at me
that belong to a version of myself
that has everything
I have ever yearned for and more
And sometimes
when the night sky is clear
and I can see all the stars
and there’s a quietness spreading
across the cool earth like a sickness
I reach out my hand
and something reaches back
And that’s when every pang
I have ever had dissolves
like paper in water
and homesickness
becomes just another word
instead of a feeling
I know so well it could just
kill me
December
I love the sound that goodbyes make.
I love collecting cities
like stars, hanging on to scars,
hoping one day I’ll be reminded
where they came from.
I’m not really sure
if I’m running from something
or if I’m trying to catch up.
I think I am made
of pieces of all the people
I’ve met and the places
I’ve been. There are few things
I’m certain about,
but I know cities look more beautiful
from above. That must be how angels
see us: tiny imperfections
beneath a perfect sky.
It’s December and I’ve spent a lot of nights
praying I’d forget. Now I wake up
just wishing I could remember.
Morgan Govier is a student in Humber Polytechnic’s creative writing certificate program. Her poetry has appeared in The Garden Statuary and Ponder Review. She is also working on a middle grade fantasy novel and lives in Ottawa with her dog, Mateo.