Creators

Creators

Marie Trotter

The silvercoin moon is blurring at the edges,
As if God, after drawing, took the side of his fist
And smudged it across the sky.

His hands are stained all colours – dark blues
And metal flecks and thin orange bands of sunset
Crossing veins of rose and mauve and gold.

He traces a line along His streets and alleyways,
Their pavements exhale dust in the summer heat,
Traces of creation’s footsteps rise skyward.

He fills the backyard fences with lilacs,
Lines every alley with pale purple blooms
Bursting forth to be seen, their sweet scent to be noted.

Summer sighs and unfolds in
The uncurling of His fingers –
How easily He begets beauty.

My hands, less eager to make
The sights I wish to devour with my eyes,
Beat out a halting rhythm upon a screen –

Words, and more words,
An imperfect thanksgiving –
For the warmth and light He ever makes.

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Marie Trotter
Poet & Playwright

Marie's writing has been published in Broadview, Plough, Intermission, The WholeNote, and The Lamp Literary Journal. She is a PhD student specializing in Shakespeare at McGill University.

Photography by Casey Horner