Aya/Mercury Press, 1986 ISBN: 0920544444
“Rhea Tregebov’s poetry is brilliant in that it makes ordinary things shine brilliantly, thereby revealing the connnections between them.”
— Sharon Goodier, Canadian Book Review Annual
“Rhea Tregebov’s poetry cuts to the quick, exposing us, through cracks in the ordinary and familiar, to the raw, wounded flesh.”
— Di Brandt, Prairie Fire.
“Most people, swept along on the flood of their lives, clutch at something to steady them — a house that floats by, a tree trunk, another human being. A life preserver. Some of Tregebov’s most moving poems are those in which the things that preserve her life float out of the unreality of nowhere: “flowers, bowls of fruit/ rabbits. They’re to help us/ remember and forget.” — Mary Meigs, Room of One’s Own.
The sherbet glasses in this Chinese restaurant
are authentic, you know. Exactly like the ones
in the delicatessen, the facets blunt, cloudy,
durable. I have something. I have a real coleslaw
dish, thick white oval with a green stripe. My
grandfather, you don’t know him, isn’t thinking
of anything as he steps inside. Nothing to match
that cool and dim, the floor swept clean, familiar.
He smoothes his apron and rests a hand on the
meek surface of wood. All along the long counter
the customers turn, nod. The grey cat touches the
hem of his trouser with the white tip of her nose.
I was never there, the only place on earth I exist.
© Rhea Tregebov