It was a Tuesday, although it felt like a Sunday. The birth was a series of complex actions that led to many reactions. No wailing newborn or cheering parents. Their existence winked into being and was so bright no one anywhere could respond. Just like that, they were here and new and alone. This
night blue plastic truck we sing Saturn’s rings to pieces in the shower I was whole let me tell you of a time I drank the world until I lost hold of the ground until I became a wintered kite with no tether and all the weather broke us down can’t you remember tiny wheels in your
I come from the slaughterhouse. From the boar-tainted blood stained two car garage where a skinned pig hangs by bound hooves her squeals still echoing down the valley. But I wasn’t stained by blood. My white flesh remained pure and I built friendships on oaths written with crow feather quills and ink from that pig’s
invisible strings tie us together— strangers, friends, lovers, mothers— oh, to wonder. we all stumble, twist, and fall, dance, shake, bend, and break, until dawn calls. laugh and sing, child, step forth, witness— walk this Earth; your presence, yours to keep.
As the sun sets beams of sun kiss every molecule of earth as light fades into the afterglow Slow, soft whispers are carried by the breeze the sky is sprayed with majestic shades of red and orange I watch the sunset here by the river being on the seventh cloud without any fear of the
I watched in awe as the rain fell in gallons. Raindrops as hefty as apples tumbled from the heavens in munificent volumes, muddying the desert sand. Whenever a giant drop smashed against the window, the pane would rattle like ice cubes in a jar. On the floor behind me, a dog howled at the storm.
Nick was born in Trinidad. His complexion was the color of milky coffee, and he had beautiful hands and wide brown eyes. He moved to Vancouver from Toronto, after coming into money in the form of travelers’ cheques. I suspect the cheques were fraudulent, but Nick was evasive and skipped over any details. In Vancouver,
when that boy fell haloed and serene snow-down feathers enflamed in quiet radiance he stretched his arms and whirled and kissed the sun and though his nape prickled anticipated the plunge his bare bronze shoulders his arching back drip cascades of golden wax for now he is gloriously alive falling flying floating fleeting he sheds
Strings of starlight fall lightly onto tired eyes that gaze in solitude with only the wind for a companion whistling gently through the cracked crimson gold leaves of autumn that drift quietly onto frost bitten ground. In the shadows lay our bones that are no longer lost only broken. Wary glances are what crack the
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