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Water Filter; Rhythm of Grace by Deryck N. Robertson



Water Filter


The people who make your water filters

(y’know, the kind that goes under your

counter, in the long, blue tube)

were pretty unhappy.  No one really

spoke to anyone else, and it wasn’t because

it was Monday morning. Apparently, it was

a revolving door of employees; jobs

found on the board at the old Canada

Employment Centre. On arrival I spent

three and a half days wrapping Teflon tape

around the threads of little plastic elbow joints

until my fingertips were blistered and my feet

and back ached, the radio my only companion.

No rest for the wicked? More like no chairs.

Break times spent in silence while the guard, er,

manager timed us on his stopwatch. Thursday

afternoon I was finally moved to the cutting

station, pulling and cutting the mesh screen that

fit around the filter tube. Pulling and cutting

the mesh screen. Pulling and cutting the mesh

screen. For hours. Finally the manager put me

out of my misery, brought me my paycheck

and told me to get out. You see I had, earlier

in the day, asked for a day off to go for an

interview for a (better) summer job.


I’ve always been told I need a filter on what I say.



Rhythm of Grace


Saturday morning, dressed in fog     

and expectations

lifts its veils and, slowly,    

reveals a blue treasure underneath.


Soft pulses of daybreak    

brush the land, almost    

imperceptibly.


But you can hear it    

repeating its appeal    

to move to the rhythm    

of grace.


That this is new    

and yesterday    

is no excuse.

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1 Comment


Loved Rhythm of Grace. Great final line

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