The following interview is part two of a seven-part series of conversations with BC poets which I released between January and April 2022. All eight interviews were originally posted at ReadLocalBC.ca. This was the third year of my collaboration with Read Local BC (you can read the 2019 interviews here, the 2020 interviews here, and the 2021 interviews here).
Late November, -10 C - W.M. HerringI forgot to tell you, to say,(that time you went for so longcame back somewhat changed)forgot to say:The barred owl was therein the paddock at four o’clockon a stump, hunting micecatching distilled, chilled amber air.He lifted off, banked aside the barn,settled in an aspen by the fence.Crows massed from nowhere,everywhere, scolded, circledas though somethingwas dead or should be.The owl slid off the branchalmost liquidslipped under the bare willowthe swaying heads of grass.The crows flew east, shedgloaming from their tails.I rushed up the hill, up home:I thought you might be there.