Guest poem sent in by Alan DeMello
(Poem #1326) Bearhug
Griffin calls to come and kiss him goodnight I yell ok. Finish something I'm doing, then something else, walk slowly round the corner to my son's room. He is standing arms outstretched waiting for a bearhug. Grinning. Why do I give my emotion an animal's name, give it that dark squeeze of death? This is the hug which collects all his small bones and his warm neck against me. The thin tough body under the pyjamas locks to me like a magnet of blood. How long was he standing there like that, before I came?
This poem could be the poster-child for Deconstruction, it lends itself so well. Everytime you think you have them all, another binary hits you in the face, or skirts across your mind's eye. I haven't ever read anything else by Ondaatje, but Bearhug makes me want to. Alan Links: Biography: http://mtmt.essortment.com/biographyofmac_rqzo.htm Collection of Ondaatje links: http://www.cariboo.bc.ca/ae/engml/friedman/ondaatje.htm