Sylvie Hill

And telling you to proceed please with him into this fair night.

And if you wished your body was younger
Tighter back in the days of never worrying
About posture –
Forget it, because at 37, my darling
You were dumber than dumber.
Insecure, and a nutter.
Full of expectations that could never deliver.
Consuming a fiction like a fucker.
And now …?
Calmer. Smarter. Happier.
Freer in Montreal having made shit clearer.
Choosing a life you want instead vs being a follower.
And you didn’t care to meet someone there
In Ottawa? Who and what where?
And so you told the Universe,
Alright, alright I’ll put out a feeler.
“HVAC, engineer, truck” you breathed it there
Tho, that Elliot Smith patch on the back of a jacket?
Then one night – it all came here.
And the next night – mention of Coriander.
Ah, little signs when the shit is right
And telling you to proceed please with him into this fair night.
And his hands are perfect
And his eyes are steady
And his smile mixes his manliness and vulnerability
And when he whistles to the doggy dogs in the country
You can picture his lips and chin all manly
And so it is with people we fall for
The amalgamation of all things came before them
And you fret it’s a pattern
But nothing wrong with repetition
If this time you’re saner, better
And best of all choosing this man
Instead of just falling for him
Over beer.
And he always said “you can’t be with an artist”
And I always loved the smell of sawdust
Sounds of radial arm saws
Vision of a cabin building – no kids, dogs, veranda
Man with edges and rough but tender
To my smooth lady ways, fiery, childish and blunt
In candour.

Sylvie Hill, Montreal, May 2019