Viva Davis Halifax
Nancy Viva Davis Halifax has published
poetry in Tessera, the literary anthology Bent,
and spent part of this past summer at the Sage Hill Writing Retreat.
She claims Toronto as her current home, and teaches at York University.
She has been writing poetry for several years and is always looking
to further her collection of rejection and acceptance letters.
Constellations not yet vanished guide the ghost of my
to this scarred table. The scent of his cigarette drifts down the hall.
Burning memory. Ashen visions blister my sleeping skin.
In the near dark,
the burner spiral is bluish light, he brings the water to an almost boil
and lets it rest. Counts fifteen seconds and pours water
over coffee grounds. The smell of his brew crawls into my mug on the floor
by my bed, where I lie breathing. My unshaved father,
in his half-open tattered bathrobe startles at the faded ochre scratch
of a leaf at the window.
And he begins to sing softly.
I don't know what he does all day. Dangling threads tie him to the night.
But in these mornings, before dawn, while my breath
fills the air
with its own tangle of scents, my father makes coffee.