Lakeshore Boulevard
Exhausted city lanes settle
like the bundle of lavender
Elena gave me from B&B farms,
the heron blue-grey family fields
just off old Olympic highway.
She was allergic to the Grosso buds
from Sequim, gave me the buttery
cotton sachet of wheat shaft beads
to warm, hold over my eyes
like tonight
my rear brake torn, right handlebar
in a fraying duct tape cast
a cycle into dusk-touched arms
Fran Westwood is an emerging Canadian poet writing from Toronto where she is also finishing graduate school while trying to keep plants alive in her tiny basement apartment. She writes poems that help her pay attention, often on finding belonging and bridges in diverse landscapes. Fran’s work has been published by or is forthcoming in Contemporary Verse 2, The Hopper, Snapdragon, Prairie Fire, Inanna’s Canadian Women Studies journal, Recenter Press, Ekstasis, and in a 2021 collection by Flying Ketchup Press. You can find her on Instagram @fran.westwood
