In Gwen MacEwen Park

three oaks and three chestnuts sentinel this oasis

kids caper in the nearby schoolyard

sparrows ricochet around Walmer Baptist

an ant traverses my shirt

a robin wades through the unweeded grass

women cross the park with varied charges

a baby a baguette a book

they pass the plinth with MacEwen’s head

above an engraved quotation from Afterworlds

—we are still dancing, dancing—

in a city forever on fastforward

taxis circle the park’s three stop signs

at the park’s south end stand two new saplings

one a slim magnolia planted last year

in Connie Rooke’s memory

the reason I’ve come here

under the magnolia a plaque commemorates

Connie’s open-heart theory

—the act of writing holds out the promise

of an ever-deepening connection to the heart of life—

I splash a dram from my cup onto the sunwarm soil

recall her talk about invoking the you

Connie you were all heart with my writing back then

is it too late to tell you I’ve found it again

to say thank you for the eternal bright light

I want to stay in this chestnut shade

let more ants traverse my shirt

but I have to get back to the conference

where new poets sharp as scalpels will be reading

I will try to listen with a heart open as Kahlo’s

over the church storm clouds thicken in gridlock

I walk to the subway posting a photo

in my socials a friend who knew Connie too says

that park is like the Secret Garden

surrounded by a wall of city streets