Slipstream by Lynn Tait

We are all made up fragments, so shapelessly and strangely assembled that every moment, every piece plays its own game. And there is as much difference between ourselves and ourselves as between us and others.


She drifts into various life forms,
enters unnoticed through separate doors,
assumes the shape of masks,
stained-glass and candles
so she might see herself aflame,
reflect on her ability to grow soft and small,
provide light to fit and fuse harlequin elements –
pieces of persona contoured and shaded.

Avoiding liaisons black with holes,
she shifts into sound waves,
gains access to conversations
clinging to the sides of diphthongs
that drop dangerous and sudden
into hard letters, unsigned, cut short –
each long sound bears with it an uncomfortable silence,
no one able to comment on her painful transitions,
the energy needed to sustain each form.

When time permits,
she covers herself with moss
to soften the violence of flight,
listens for ripples in the atmosphere,
waits for the proper slipstream
to carry her, back to the place
where a slight turn of her head
altered the course of planets.


Copyright © Lynn Tait. Originally published in Quills Literary Magazine (2006).


Lynn Tait is an award-winning poet/photographer from Sarnia Ontario Canada. Her poems have appeared in Windsor Review, RE:al, lichen, Quills Canadian Poetry Magazine, Feathertale Review, Contemporary Verse II, Freefall, Vallum,  Literary Review of Canada, and in over 90 Canadian and American anthologies. She published “Breaking Away” a chapbook in 2002 and co-authored Encompass I with 4 other poets in 2013. She’s  recently completed two poetry manuscripts. Her photos/digital art grace the covers of seven poetry books. She is a member of the League of Canadian Poets.


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