Sunday November 29, 2015
From the Wikipedia article on jalapeños
She picks me like a trophy
standing on the other side of the field out of
I tell the children to stop laughing but
they are in a wash of tie die pastel here and
now gone too quick.
Polly paints her room green like the grass
first picked a daisy with all the petals still intact.
We pick raspberries
Polly and me
on the way to the tournament and she asks me how I’ve gotten
I beg my mother not to put capers in the
She snaps my training bra like it’s a tenderness.
Saturday November 28, 2015
From an email
Harriet prays that Kendra might, by divine grace, arrive early. She’s been alone with Sam and Leah for three days straight. Vic had to take the job, their financial woes causing her eczema and him lock-jaw. “I’ll only be away seven days out of the month, hon,” Vic had said, picking a chunk of oatmeal off her sweater.
When Kendra gets there, all rosy cheeks and perky breasts, Harriet considers kissing her. She hasn’t kissed a woman since college, when she experimented with lesbianism via a three months relationship with Luella, her Spanish TA. She decides against it, she needs Kendra, in a practical, supercharged way that trumps saviour lust.
Friday November 27, 2015
The Vancouver Sun
Friday, November 27, 2015
When you teach me how to make your mother’s guacamole and salsa verde, when you show me how to carve a jalapeño open and scrape out the seeds, I’m finally getting to know you. I wanna dance around your kitchen like Swan Lake, I’m so excited. “I know you now,” I say. You smile, and hand me an avocado. It’s the first time I’m at your place, and it’s bigger than I’d imagined. It makes sense. I don’t read into the fact that you don’t have a roommate. I don’t make assumptions about your past, your bank account, or your job. I know you work in consulting. That’s enough. This is enough. You feed me a freshly fried tortilla, topped with our salsa and a leaf of cilantro. I close my eyes, savouring the spice and the juiciness of the green tomatoes.