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rfmcdonaldWhile travelling east on the Queen Street early this morning, I read Paulette Jiles' poem "Heat Lightning" as part of the TTC's poetry campaign:
Disembarking at Queen Station, at the foot of the Eaton Centre, I looked up at the skyscrapers, City Hall and the rest. Office lights had been turned on though it was still dark outside. The effect--lighted rooms surrounded by darkness and the thin frames of the buildings--reminded me of the cave dwellings of Cappadocian monks.
Beauty of landscapes is a great stimulus,
even the real estate sign across the street
lighting up the front room like persistent heat-lightning.
And the streetcars creep by catlike on unbending rails
cracking electrical walnuts, blue-white and dangerous,
a handful of voltage, a long trip to the end of town.
Disembarking at Queen Station, at the foot of the Eaton Centre, I looked up at the skyscrapers, City Hall and the rest. Office lights had been turned on though it was still dark outside. The effect--lighted rooms surrounded by darkness and the thin frames of the buildings--reminded me of the cave dwellings of Cappadocian monks.
