Chris Banks

Garnish

Check out these invisible handcuffs. Death

is classically trained. You are free to go

on your own recognizance until the time

of your execution. Every minute is garnish.

The entrée is missing. We live under

an embarrassment of stars. Each face

is a living portrait. A work in progress.

Dreams build cantilevered balconies into 

the world. Hold this mirror. So begins

our secret congress. Let’s not meet out 

in the open. What do you wish to know?

I promise to pull you out of an earthquake.

Give you first aid. When the ocean recedes,

do not go walking amongst the fish gasping

in its wake. Head for the hills. Stay with me

one more week. Wave goodbye before

slipping into a dark limo filled with techno

and champagne. I hate the crowds so I won’t 

be at the premiere with its paparazzi. I’ll be 

working on my patents. There is this one 

for a new type of glass. When you hold 

a hand up on either side, it simulates human 

contact. Here, place your fingers like this. 

I forgot how warm you are to the touch.





Chris Banks is the author of four poetry collections. His first full-length collection, Bonfires, was awarded the Jack Chalmers Award for poetry by the Canadian Authors’ Association in 2004 and was a finalist for the Gerald Lampert Award for best first book of poetry in Canada. His poetry has appeared in The New Quarterly, Arc Magazine, The Antigonish Review, Event, The Malahat Review, Prism International, among other publications. He lives and writes in Waterloo, Ontario.