A poem composed following the student suicide(s?) on a UBC construction site in 2017/18.
Thick sky sheds tears
onto merry makers of monoliths, making one slip
a steep drop.
Onto skeletal oaks with leaves that cling, watching comrades who jump
and are quickly swept off.
Onto totems that rot, slither, or stand unfinished.
Into the dimly lit din, muffling metallic roars and wails.
Onto midnight parades, turned morning vigils
under the umbrella of a leader we stopped believing in.
Onto red stained concrete, blue lighted brick,
where home is stress tests, death is dirt cheap; down
in torrents off sharp cliffs, into a rapidly rising sea.
fragmentary English, far flung family,
dying prayers with answers months or miles away.
Our Vice is our problem, yours is our solution.