Poetry by Matthew King

           ​Peter Organisciak CC



Villanelle for Lost Time

“My troubles all are in the past,”
he told me, “but that ain’t so great:
that’s how I know they’ll last and last.
You think you want ’em over fast,
but listen, man, I’ll tell ya straight:
my troubles all are in the past -
they sit there, in a heap, amassed,
and ain’t a one lost any weight. 
That’s how I know they’ll last and last.”
He stood to go, then, eyes downcast,
he paused as if to contemplate.
“My troubles all are in the past,”
he said again, and then, aghast,
kept on and didn’t hesitate:
“that’s how I know they’ll last and last.”
And stuck there, he’d repeat, steadfast,
this thought he couldn’t overstate:
“my troubles all are in the past - 
that's how I know they’ll last and last.”

​

Matthew King used to teach philosophy at York University in Toronto. He now lives in what Al Purdy called "the country north of Belleville", where he tries to grow things, takes pictures of flowers with bugs on them, counts birds, canoes around Wollaston Lake on calm mornings, and walks a rope bridge between the neighbouring mountaintops of philosophy and poetry.

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