Inside
a deaf woman, a pear orchard grows.
As a child, she whirls among mirrors and pears,
her finger tips brush the blue black branches,
Her gown is sheathed in the rainment of broken lights
splashing over green, red and golden fruit.
She sits in the darkness, waiting for someone to call her
from the orchard.
From
The Pear Orchard, recently shortlisted for
a Saskatchewan Book Award
