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Autobiography by rob mclennan

 ...

1.

 

Plinths and ornaments; a cavalcade of bookshelves.

 

The pulsing energy                   of continuity: e-learning mornings.

Rose, in headphones: jumping jacks. She smacks

 

a stack of paper loose, to the hardwood. A handful

of pencils, scraps. Their grade two

 

calisthenics routine. They shake

their sillies out. Across the living room, Aoife shifts and re-shifts

 

zoom backgrounds: outer space, blue cloudscape, a temperament

of snow. She responds, when challenged: My teacher taught me.

 

Junior kindergarten sight words, reading: the, a, she. A writing grid

of nine, for Bingo, before they launch into a story

 

of a springtime frog. The blank space

 

of theoretical clarity.

 

 

2.

 

Home, home. We are home. We are endlessly, truly

home. Isolating daily rounds of paired coffee, corner office margins.

 

Scoped and paired, these opposites rarely meet. Two positives

consistently orbiting the nuclei

 

of assembled, concentrated parenting. Alternating as lifeguards

for their e-school sessions,

 

a lineage of comparable sentences. The cat transfixed at window-ledge,

abutting couch; preoccupied

 

with birdfeeder activity: black squirrels, a lone

red cardinal. He chirps the length of his curled tail.

 


3.

 

Each morning                          leaves its mark. The daily accommodation

of dining room,

 

living room, kitchen. The news

 

is not outside; it echoes. They live out isolation, routines

set down by safety, science. School-released by mid-afternoon,

 

our wee girls scatter,

 

escalate their bedroom, backyard, basement. Swings and

climbing apparatus. Tablet videos

 

viewed from underneath their sheets. Our boundary

 

of suburban bubble. As streamed music blooms,

 

Christine flicks past

CBC hourly updates, lest the listening ears

 

of our small sponges, soak. Their questions, percolate. Will

you die of Covid? Will we? Why did those people get shot? We

 

answer shorthand, truthfully. We monitor, observe.

Attend. The

 

durability of the pause.

...

Born in Ottawa, Canada’s glorious capital city, rob mclennan currently lives in Ottawa, where he is home full-time with the two wee girls he shares with Christine McNair. The author of more than thirty trade books of poetry, fiction and non-fiction, his most recent titles include the poetry collection Snow day (Spuyten Duyvil, 2025), On Beauty: stories (University of Alberta Press, 2024) and the anthology groundworks: the best of the third decade of above/ground press 2013-2023 (Invisible Publishing, 2023). This fall, University of Calgary Press will be publishing his poetry collection the book of sentences, a follow-up to the book of smaller (2022). The current Artistic Director of VERSeFest: Ottawa’s International Poetry Festival, he spent the 2007-8 academic year in Edmonton as writer-in-residence at the University of Alberta.

@robmclennan.bsky.social | Bluesky