Christine Pennylegion

Neighbourhood Watch
 
The second time that we were robbed, or third,
our neighbour came to call, the father of 
my little friend who lived five houses down. 
Made skinny by a life of cigarettes 
and harder things, Tobias loved my dad,
who’d given him some money once when he
was in a bind. It was a modest loan, 
but eighty dollars can cement a bond,
it seems, and Toby knocked to bring the news:
I know the guy who did your house, he said,
We both use the same fence. Just tell me and
I’ll kill him, if you like. I can’t believe
he robbed you guys, it isn’t right. It would,
he said, be easy--Look, his place, it has
a tree out front; I’ll hide behind, I’ll get
him with a hammer in the dark. And what
are you supposed to say to offers made
like this, in earnest loyalty? Somehow
my father talked him down: Tobias, we
believe that God is just; he will repay.
No need to stain your hands with blood. Think of
your daughter and your son. The crisis passed--
the cops proceeded with their job at hand,
and Toby never killed his man. 
                                It’s now
been twenty, thirty years--Tobias moved
to Oshawa, or Hamilton, I don’t
recall; my parents are the only ones 
on all their street who know his name, which house
was his, the way his wounded heart once laid
an offering of love upon their gate. 


Forest Tritina
 
Afternoon hush and the wood is quiet
with beckoning shade under every tree.
All now is grace in the piney air.

Half-unseen birds give the wood an air
of whimsy, different than the quiet
cloistered stillness of the mossy tree

offering me its shelter; if a tree
can be said to offer anything but air
and leaves and its steadfast quiet.

In the quiet forest a tree is mostly air.

 

Christine Pennylegion has lived in and around Toronto, Ottawa, Pittsburgh, Baltimore, and Windsor. She holds a BA(Hons) in English from the University of Toronto, and an MAR from Trinity School for Ministry. Read more at christinepennylegion.com.