I Have Been Losing Roads,I v

All I could do was turn and go back to the house
and the door that I can’t see out of.
My life was supposed to be wider, not so forlorn
and not standing out in this north country bled
like maple. I do not want to write poems
about stacking cords of wood, as if the world
is that simple, that quiet is not simple or content
but finally cornered and killed. I still need the revolution
bright as a blaze of the wood stove in the window
when I shut the light and mount the stairs to bed.

– Dionne Brand

Found this poem on the subway.  Thanks, Art In Transit, it resonated.

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