“contemporary re-imagining” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Thursday September 15, 2016
11:30pm
5 minutes
From an email from PTC

“It’s okay,” says Papa, chopping onions. He doesn’t cry, stoically bringing his knife down in perfectly straight lines.

“I’m sorry,” I say, sniffling.

“It’s just a truck, sweetie,” Papa pours the onions in the pan and glugs on oil and throws in a knob of butter, too.

“It was so scary,” I stand up and walk close. He reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I flipped my Papa’s truck into a ditch the first snowstorm of ’69?”

“No…”

He stirs the onions, some starting to become translucent.

“you can experience racism” by Sasha on her couch


Wednesday September 14, 2016
11:04pm
5 minutes
from a tweet

He keeps his hands in his pockets. Safest that way. He chews Hubba Bubba and spits it into the trash can at the bus stop on the way to Community College. First one in his family to go. He doesn’t call out racism, even though it follows him like a stray dog. Safest that way. Fly under the radar, his mother says. He does well. His instructors give him pats on the back and ask if he wants to work in the Lab, helping out. He agrees. He likes when it’s quiet there and he can really focus. Hard with so many other people around.

“I had to let her know” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Tuesday September 13, 2016
11:32pm
5 minutes
from a Facebook post

Marnie can’t stop biting her nails. She’s tried nail polish, hypnotherapy, herbal remedies, even putting rat poison on her fingertips (that resulted in an overnight stay at the hospital. She can’t stop biting her nails. She wakes up in the middle of the night, her hands in her mouth, and she screams. She’s with a client and the urge to bring fore-finger to mouth overwhelms her and she excuses herself to go to the bathroom and she nibbles and then cries. Marnie goes to therapy. The red headed therapist asks if she can remember when she first started. “I have no idea,” says Marnie.

“How I came into being” by Sasha on her couch


Monday September 12, 2016
12:46am
5 minutes
poetryfoundation.org

I came into being
thanks to charcoal and stardust
thanks to dinosaur bones and grandmother
fingernails I came into being because of you
I came into being with the seeds of my daughters
buried the womb of my mother’s mother
I came into being with the big bang
with the Holocaust
with a dance alone under a full harvest moon
I came into being once
twice
three
a thousand times
When I met you
and you
and you and you and you
when I met myself in the eye of the storm
rocking back and forth
whispering
Yes

“contemporary re-imagining” by Julia at Lindsay’s apartment


Thursday September 15, 2016
11:30pm
5 minutes
from an email from PTC

Couldn’t see past the glare of the sun
You were standing there dripping wet
You had just leaped out of a rainbow or something
And you were bright
and I wanted to love you.
Thought it best to keep you out of full view
I might have wanted to sculpt you better
More the shape and size that I know I would need later on
But if I couldn’t see you
I wouldn’t be able to find anything wrong
I liked your stamina
You stood there dripping colours that I had already promised myself
The ones I had proposed to
And you seemed to be smiling
I could have kept you happy in that perfect moment
I could have remembered to breathe deep and follow it into myself like the book woman said
I could have let you stand there exposed in all your offering
As a comfort to myself
And to you