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Volume 20, Number 118,
December 2017/January 2018


Two Poems by Asoka Weerasinghe:

Mitts, Scarves and Toques

The night the Buddhist
Mitten Tree shed its mitts,
the gloves, the scarves and
woollen toques, and my wits
the night when the sky forgo
to shed Hudson Bay’s confetti
the night that I was given
a cup of warm Nepalese
Masala Chai Tea
graded with cinnamon, ginger,
lemongrass and cardamom
to warm a loveless soul and colour
it with the extraordinary pretty
gentle face resting on a nest
on a monk’s palms of Buddha’s
saffron coloured threads with Pirith
chanting Nammo Thassa Bhagavatto,
the night I drove home
to Ottawa’s east-end carrying
that pretty face in my heart.

Under the Milkwood Night

Under the Milkwood night
although a bible-black night
it was a street lamps lit
starry night of touching a palm
night of that heart skipping
special person night of a calm
beautiful face with bee-black eyes
with pink-gardenia petal lips mouth
opening and letting words fall
like drops of unsung
Winter’s rain drops
over my flesh and Dylan’s
Under Milkwood’s
I will love you for always night
along Henderson Road’s
bible-black freezing car night.