Shane Schick

POETRY

Flatlay

The toe of a white Common Projects sneaker
and the heel of another cuddle in the bottom
of the frame, atop a grey cashmere sweater.
A bottle of Tom Ford cologne rests nearby,
next to a watch with a mesh, metallic band.
The wrist of the sweater’s long right sleeve
is resting where the wearer’s heart would be.
I somehow can’t get enough of looking
at these flatlays, as photographers call them,
with subjects styled to be shot from above.
Perfect to showcase fashion and food,
the well-organized contents of a suitcase
or the carefully careless strewing of
pens, glasses, notepad and coffee cup
surrounding a closed MacBook on a desk.
I scroll through one such image after another
next to my wife, her long legs across my lap
as she holds open the book she’s reading,
the TV’s remote control waiting patiently
beside her on the edge of the couch cushion.
Both of us believe that God is ever-present.
We barely move. We never once look up.

The World Tonight

You’re on the air now
except there isn’t a camera in your face
and a yellow light shines instead of a red one blinking.

The woods are quiet and almost empty,
just your body language broadcasting
constantly to a small but significant audience.

You’re on the scene
and in the newsroom at the same time,
with nothing to report other than updates

about the same ongoing tragedies,
a traffic analysis that won’t get anyone anywhere,
plus a storm warning you hope is inaccurate.

TV anchors prefer to end on a happy story,
called a “bright” —something fun about an animal or a kid.
But this is the kind of day it’s been. And so it goes,

you whisper, standing at the top of the hour
with God listening so closely
it’s like you clipped a lavalier mic to your shirt.

Shane Schick has had poems published in Poetry for Ephesians, Amethyst Review and many other journals. He lives with his wife, an Anglican priest, in Whitby, Ont. More: ShaneSchick.com/Poetry. Twitter: @Shane Schick

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