Everything has floated away Fish bones The belly gives birth to pain The tree moves like a dead stone washed by healing water On the banks of a jagged river in the hollow of a fresh wound I take a pager from the pocket of a thunderstorm but remember there is no
On your way to be stuck in traffic No escape by the Riverside Headed home just drove past it Chasing dolls on White Rock tides Drop your dream in the mail then hurry Richmond Post for your Russian bride Mayor’s rant of a Fleetwood foot rub Over the protests where he presides Point Grey down
What peaches and penumbras, Allan!Arrayed so gallantly against the meekTowing tonkas en train de bruit, perforce toAlert the sheep to the falling of the sky.What courage and costume, man!Perching primly, tweeting in treacherous shriek.Yet transparent in their hoarse bleating, by the by.
I was the household dishwasher from an early age, pulling my weight you could say. Scrubbing dishes after a meal, cleaning up after my family. My favourite part was always putting dishes away exactly how they should be. It brought a strange sense of glee to have control over this one tiny aspect of our
Remember our glory days when the world was fresh with possibility? It was a springtime of the spirit. In fact, it was spring. You and I were just two drops of rain, and we felt like we could fall forever. The world was our sky and the sky was our world. Everything was new and
Georgia stood in the parking lot of the Johnson Street shelter, her black beret snugged down over her ears, her gloved hands holding a basket of homemade muffins nestled in a gingham napkin, and looked around at the two dozen or so homeless people on the sidewalk. Temporarily displaced from the shelter while lunch
The people of Heoldel were precociously superstitious. They knew to cover their mirrors after sunset so as not to be pulled in and replaced by their mimicking reflections. To not gaze upon the moon when with child, lest it be born wolfish or malformed. And to hide and hang iron above the doorways of their
Trigger warning: racist characters The Speeding Ticket As Derek stood in the road, waiting for the officer to finish writing the ticket, he reflected somberly on his day. If only he had taken the interstate instead of cutting through the countryside on the backroads! Then he wouldn’t have been pulled over by the traffic cops,
Defiantly, there grew a lily surrounded by a sea of morning glory it sprouted from soils fertilized with a falsity of promises wept Their violent waves splash at its stalk their twisting vines strangle up its stem. There no longer grew a lily, instead replaced by homogenized glory.
The red half-moon falls in my bath water like dry peony petals from late June. A gold crescent appears for the daughter. I stir my tea, thrice, with a silver spoon. Warm droplets coat my tongue like the sun’s embrace Chamomile, lavender, creamed honey. Shadows swallow a choking maiden’s grace. Cyclical patterns flow in harmony.
A pulse suspended in inka silence that tastes like the edge of timecurling around broken hoursand slipping beneath its skin. I rise from the horizonbut do not break it.A pale fracture in the quietfelt only in the tremorof the earth’s quiet exhale. I unravel the nightwoven from threads too fine to holdhumming through the silencewhere
I’m reading Elle by Donald Glover, and I’m struck by Elle’s predicament. What do you do with a headstrong girl? Fling her over the starboard deck and sail away, mate. Drop her on an impoverished beach with a dying lover and a useless nursemaid. Throw her a bone; a trunk full of posh dresses next to a
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