you speak to me in skylines|
the techno of concrete
walls| | cacophonies of
light & noise collide| with glass
& | asphalt | |
instead of ocean chants | & mountains.
the wind can’t tell the | difference.
it scales | the heights of
scrapers| |shoves us around
the corner of Burrard| |and Hastings.
you sold million-dollar- views
then took away the view.
you up-zone our loneliness| |
re-zone our dis/ease | | our relation/
ships |our sky.
regiments of your high rises have started
their own weather channels.
clouds and smoke take turns| |rubbing
against windows| |we cannot open.
| most creatures here are out of
| | | place and
| | |out of sorts
inaudible to |
themselves| | |
amidst the haze of your daily nonchalance.
Daniela Elza lived on three continents before immigrating to Canada in 1999. Her latest poetry collections are the broken boat (2020) and slow erosions (2020). She placed second in the 2022 Ken Belford Poetry Prize for Social Justice and won first place in the 2023 Muriel’s Journey Poetry Prize. [provided for the Arc Award of Awesomeness in September 2023]