Leonard Nimoy’s rumored penthouse in Vancouver
Was easy to spot– a pin oak tree growing
Atop the 19th floor at English Bay.
Think about the inches nearest
To you. What’s in your line of
Target bags of plastic eggs
A rubbery Fitbit,
Telling me to move.
Wood. The mantle carved,
The Pictures framed, the copies Xeroxed;
Pink-dyed reminders of
Mother daughter sex ed classes.
Organic life whistles to me
Through the window’s slumping glass.
On hold to the doc’s office
I jog in place: MOVE BAR CLEARED.
SmartWatch guilts me to
Acknowledge my bones and
Mushy parts. Leonard Nimoy may never have
Lived at Eugenia Place, but
An oak tree does
As tall as the spruce once were.
— day 16, National Poetry Month