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An advent calendar of poetry: December 14

Halifax poet laureate Sue Goyette delivers her fourteenth daily poem between now and Winter Solstice.


Editor's Note: Each day from December 1 -21, Halifax' poet laureate Sue Goyette will write a new poem to share with the city on The Coast's website and social media. "If I need this, I bet other people need this," she told us on day one—and we think she's right. In a year that's felt like a months-long dusk, this will be some light we can carry forward, together, until the days begin to grow again.
Here is her poem for December 14:

There was a small mouse-bear cavorting on The Common Saturday afternoon. This mouse-bear, was all where-the-wild-things-are walking, absorbed by the soft give of earth and its expanse while their mom followed with their phone. Mouse-bear! their grannies will swoon so close to their iPad they’ll smell the wet metal fence around the fountain, the curdle of the first fake snow at The Oval. Mouse-bear, their grampies will gruff because if they soften, there’ll be no stopping. Later, the person behind plexiglass wrapping little clay cats for me stopped, cat aloft, to say how moved they are to see such kindness in everyone. It brings tears to my eyes, they said. And we stood, stilled and transported, to the outer galaxy of a good cry and the line up outside the store waited their turn. It’s funny how standing at the cash isn’t about money now. Tell me, are you faring okay? Is your shadow getting too long? When was the last time you laughed? I don’t know if you get a break, but there’s a mouse-bear wandering The Common that’s worth the sprint. Oh, mouse-bear, how can you be so combustible a joy and what is this thing called time?  

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