Curated by Judy Gaudet
What day brings forth, 1 January
I’m here for the morning’s pale, pale sky;
for clouds scudding a ceiling of no colour.
Pond ice, fancy as scrimshaw –
a feather-work finery over hard ground.
No snow. It’s all lines in the new world,
a ligature of bare branches and blocky
hedges: Conté, charcoal and ink’s wanted.
Some green, yes, in the evergreens,
and gamboge, the grass – filed down, folded.
Impermanent as distemper, this beginning.
Rain’s withdrawn southward, leaving
its thinnest vapour over all. Slaty grey.
Steel-metaled in spite of softness, air
tongues ground: Iron sharpening iron.
But nothing’s absconded. Exempla gratia
of grace scattered everywhere.
The year’s foyer – year of the ample name.
—Anne Compton, from asking questions indoors and out. Anne Compton is a two-time winner of the Atlantic Poetry Prize and a winner of the Governor General’s Literary Award for Poetry.
Island poet and avid poetry reader Judy Gaudet selects a poem by a PEI poet each month.