A woman is missing.A woman is missing.
My sweater is knit too loose and the wind blows through.
The leaves are done changing and are waiting to fall.
I think of them collaged against my morning-damp windshield;
they will mostly be red. My wipers will push them off;
I will forget about them. But inbetween these thoughts
my brain hums. A woman is missing and I cannot forget.
Two weeks ago the leaves were mostly green and yellow.
Two weeks ago a woman went missing.
I didn't know her but she went missing and today
I am standing at a wall covered with candles and
I am rolling her name over my tongue and I am thinking.
I am thinking and praying, but I am not hoping.
A woman went missing; a woman is missing.
I keep going to work, getting up each day.
I brush my teeth, comb my hair, pack my lunch, drive my car.
And mostly I do not think about her. But sometimes I do.
Sometimes the hairs on my neck stand up and the two blocks
between the library and the coffee shop are impossibly long.
OritPetra has a maturity in style that leads to deep, nuanced pieces, filled with thought-out techniques. The effect is a superb combination of mood and tone that creates engrossing, epic landscapes in each poem or prose piece. No piece feels like merely words on a page...
- bleusman on behalf of theWrittenRevolution.
Twenty-three years ago, I was born in a small fishing and mining community on the East Coast of Canada. Since then, I've travelled much, lived in big cities, and acquired a Bachelor of Arts, but salt and coal still seem to run thick in my blood and home always calls me back. Right now, I work one of those low-benefits, low-pay, low-stimulation jobs that 20-somethings often take up inbetween degrees to avoid copious amounts of debt but when I'm not there I'm out doing the things I love: hiking, cycling, camping, fishing, and my one true passion, long-distance motorbiking. I've actually just returned from a two-week trip across the Canadian North, my father and I taking our motorcycles across the recently completed Trans-Labradorian Highway, a route that all-told entailed 1300 kilometres of gravel road and 2800 kilometres paved. But I'm also a city girl, loving the stillness of a morning hungover from one-too-many drafts at the local pub, the bustle of colours and smells and people in a downtown core, and the various flavours of the readily available ethnic cuisines. Amidst all this, documenting my experiences in writing, whether in poetry or prose - but mostly the former - has remained important to me.
If you'd like to know a bit more about me, check out my interview (click here) with EternalSunday.
A small list, but hopefully, someday, it'll grow.