Excavation

I first found them

in boxes pulled down

from the storage during

spring cleaning.

Opening the cardboard,

they were in bright colours,

floral and paisley patterns,

t-shirts from Hawaii and

Expo, 1986. I met my

young parents (19&25)

by slipping into slim-fitting

bell-bottoms and a green

halter dress purchased in

Honolulu circa 1975,

the scent of cigarettes and

imported beer still hanging

in the threads.

green timbers

Walking through the urban forest, I can still hear the rush of traffic just outside the mossy boundary of the birch trail. In this forestry reserve I think of the ecological miracles we made as projects in grade school; a sealed Mason jar with a piece of moss in the bottom, left to the sun, eventually becomes a tiny ecosphere. This is the urban forest; a Mason jar of damp and living green in the middle of the city.

In the midnight hours the urban forest is a meeting place for fevered sex sessions between men. Even in the afternoon I can see where they have been. The branches just off the birch trail have been hastily broken in many places, making a small fresh trail to a spot where the leaves and detritus are stamped down. The urban forest holds the secret meetings with respect and dignity, as birds chirping in the afternoon hide the residual air of guilt/delight and pain/pleasure, and the imagined sound of scuffling and hot breath on cold skin.