“it will happen on Wednesday” by Julia on the 99


Tuesday May 30, 2017
9:40pm
5 minutes
overheard on the 99

I wrote a note to myself
daily aspirations, thank you universe,
thy will be done,
amen, amen

on a post it, to kiss my cork board
into fruition, I drew a heart around it
and then waited for the beat to drop
thank you, universe, amen

it will happen on Wednesday (in case you ask me to be specific)
success marked as faith
as finally
as forgiveness

“Cut cucumber halves crosswise” by Julia in her bed


Monday May 29, 2017
12:29am
5 minutes
The Silver Palate Cookbook
Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukins


Thanks for doing the shopping and buying the cucumber. I dont know what made you think to, but i’m sure glad you did. I really wanted it. I was going to make us a cheese salad, you know with at least three different kinds? Goat and feta and all those guys. I didn’t want to ask you cause I didn’t think you cared one way or the other.

“Cut cucumber halves crosswise” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Monday, May 29, 2017
8:03pm
5 minutes
The Silver Palate Cookbook
Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukins


For her nineteenth birthday, Cath makes Tal a cookbook of all the recipes that she loved growing up. Cath’s still known around town as “Tal’s Mom”. She wonders when she’ll regain her one-ness, sometimes, when she runs into Rita and John at the IGA. “How’s Tal?” Rita says, putting hamburger meat into their basket. “She’s good! Really good.” Cath says. “Still playing basketball?” John strokes his grey goatee. “Yup, varsity,” Cath smiles. “You must miss her so much,” Rita shakes her head. “Girl that talented, you hope that she sticks around…”

“The only thing we lack” by Julia in her bed


Sunday May 28, 2017
11:13pm
5 minutes
from a program from the Cultch

you are holding me as I write this
breath on my shoulder, butterfly, same thing
I know I’ll meet my crows tomorrow morning
I know you’ll meet yours

I can feel you falling heavy
twitching into dream
As long as our skin kisses
we will know safety
we will have made it under the gazebo just in time for rain
and dancing
you are holding me as I write this
the only thing we lack
is more

“The only thing we lack” by Sasha on her couch


Sunday May 28, 2017
2:19pm
5 minutes
A program from the Cultch

Today I rise from bed groggy
heart full of last night’s baring
dreams of children and quartz
eyes wide
rushing water
my sister’s hair
a walk in the woods
barefoot
I sit on the balcony
cradling tea and my thirty-first
cradling all that I have built
on this borrowed plot
I call my father
and he sings in a voice
that lands somewhere
before time
A hummingbird
lands on the tree with
the yellow blooms
Joy
Joy
Joy

“it will be a tight squeeze” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Saturday May 27, 2017
12:17am
5 minutes
http://www.onceuponachef.com

“It will be a tight squeeze, but we can fit you in over there by the window?” Mark yawns. He wishes he didn’t have to do this shit. He knows Gary would kill for a seventy dollar steak. He wishes that Gary could come and put on this charade. He wishes that he could rock the twins to sleep and then watch the Handmaid’s Tale on Hulu.

“By the window is fine,” says Ken. It’s their third business dinner out this week. “Mr. Sanders will be here any minute.” The hostess – tall, black boots, white cocktail dress, pink lipstick – walks them to the table.

“he can sound like the rain” by Sasha on her couch


Friday May 26, 2017
12:48am
5 minutes
Mr. Brown Can Moo! Can You?
Dr. Seuss


“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Gemma-ma-ma, happy birthday to you!”

Mom’s made strawberry shortcake. I don’t have to request it, she knows it’s what I want. Calvin is a vegan so she even whipped up some tofu thing for him to have. What a woman. Her face has changed over the last nine months. She’s looking more and more like Gran. It’s the first birthday in our family since Dad died, and I know that Cal just sang the “ma-ma” because that’s what Dad would’ve done. While we eat our cake, the rain starts. It gets quiet.

“Maybe that’s him,” Mom says.

“it will be a tight squeeze” by Julia at her desk


Saturday May 27, 2017
10:47pm
5 minutes
http://www.onceuponachef.com

She sits on a bench near the water with her sunglasses on
She stares down the sun
She waits for a change in the air to speak

“Let me say out loud all of the things I need to do”
“Again?”
“It helps me. Please?”
“Okay so 8:30pm is dinner…”
“More like 9. 9pm is dinnner. By the time we pick up the food, lay it out, set it up–”
“–Fine, 9.”
“Fine, 9. And then I have to review my materials.”
“And that’s going to take a long time?”
“It’s going to take as long as it takes. But I can also do it in the morning.”
“Okay, that doesn’t sound like a lot to get done!”
“I’m not finished listing.”
“Okay…”
“I have to make sure I have a change of clothes. I need something for every weather system because I won’t be coming home. I need to make sure my bag is big enough for everything. I need to lay out what I’m wearing. I have to shower–Goddammit! I have to shower too?”

“he can sound like the rain” by Julia on her apartment’s lawn


Friday May 26, 2017
10:46pm
5 minutes
Mr. Brown Can Moo! Can You?
Dr. Seuss


there wasn’t any rain but I swear that I heard it
he’s been known to sound like thunder storm;
like flood
I’ve learned to expect his water
but not all learning is love

on days when he is clear skies,
and sunglasses,
and still,
I believe him to be the calm before
and the calm before
is never
calm at all,
is it

“There is nothing here” by Julia at her desk


Thursday May 25, 2017
10:08pm
5 minutes
This is It
James Broughton


I have waited for inspiration to strike
like the match of missed connections
like the booklet of nose aids on high alert
There is no force of flame, nor flicker
There is nothing here that looks like me

According to a long lost diary from my
mother’s storage locker we all gave up
on her when we believed that she was fine
Of course we didn’t think to ask further
to make sure that she was being honest
If I could defend us without seeming
defensive, I would say we didn’t want to know
the truth and so we let her smile

We gave her short hugs like they wouldn’t
be our lasts
Called her twice a month
business as usual, instead of once a week
And she thought it would be too much
to ask for more
And she wanted to ask for more.

“There is nothing here” by Sasha on her balcony


Thursday May 25, 2017
7:05pm
5 minutes
This is It
James Broughton


The movie theatre where I see Titanic in 1997
– clutching my sister’s hand
crying on the subway the whole way home –
it’s a drugstore now.

The house where I am born on Victoria Park
ravine stretching down the back
– treasure walks and birthday cake
and running through the sprinkler –
has a different coloured roof
and door.

There is nothing here that tells time
like the precise blur
of my nostalgia
a patina of fingerprints
marking grace
and doubt.

“ungratefulness” by Sasha on her balcony


Wednesday May 24, 2017
12:09am
5 minutes
English
Amber O’Reilly


On Sunday I’ll be thirty one
When I look at my hands
they are the hands I’ve
always had
Piano playing
squash cutting
keyboard typing
back tickling
finger knitting
busy small child hands

Swimming in the lake
as a girl
toes touching seaweed
and lake trout
diving down so deep
the temperature changed
popping back up
sunlight and gasp
laughing and falling
into dead man’s float

On Sunday I’ll be full
I’ll be lonely
I’ll be grateful
this is everything
this is nothing
this is

“I was not able to hold high notes that long” by Sasha in the car on the way home


Tuesday May 23, 2017
10:06pm
5 minutes
From a YouTube comment on a Mariah Carey music video

When the voices told her to steal, Julianne heard a high pitched sound before she did it. Club Monaco just opened on Princess St. The voices asked for a black crew neck T-shirt and a blue and white striped sweater. Julianne was worried. Club Monaco was expensive. Club Monaco sounded like a place the Kardashians would stay, someplace in Aruba, or Mexico, or France. Shoppers was easiest. Mac, the security guard, had loved Julianne since they were five years old and in the same senior kindergarten. He let her go last Sunday when she took three foundations (varying skin tones), an expensive face wash and some almond butter. “You gotta stop it, Julianne,” Mac had said, behind the rolls of toilet paper and dryer sheets. “You really gotta stop.”

“ungratefulness” By Julia at her desk


Wednesday May 24, 2017
12:07am
5 minutes
English
Amber O’Reilly


It’s easy to forget just how equal machine
and magic kiss up my body
Some nights the moon falls before
I can get a handle on things
and I make plans to trash the guest room
I am visiting
I muck my feet on the welcome mat
and crack a bottle of beer
right next to the bathtub and I don’t
say thank you to the steam
because the steam is simply doing its job
I don’t say thank you to the clean when it
shouldn’t be hard to scrub
Some nights I remember to notice
that my body is fighting to protect me
and silence is sometimes softer
than compliments

“I was not able to hold high notes that long” By Julia at her desk


Tuesday May 23, 2017
10:05pm
5 minutes
from a YouTube comment on a Mariah Carey music video

Heaven help me–if Larry ever offered to do the groceries I would know that something was terribly wrong at the centre of things. I don’t know who’s in control, if it’s NASA, if it’s Horoscope writers, or what not, but we’d be in trouble that’s for sure. Larry has a groove print the size of his ass on the sofa and it is notcibly sat in but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think about that kind of thing. No, he can’t think about teaching his body to even find a different part of the room to eat chips in, let alone offer to help me out in anyway.
Not on his own, at least. Larry’s the kind of man who requires a lot of prompting and I’m not saying that’s his mother’s fault or what not, I’m sure she’s a real ham-sweetheart. But his father? If I’m going to go blaming anyone for the permanent Larry-groove in my sofa, I’m going to go ahead and blame him: the iceberg lettuce who didn’t think responsability applied to him.

“system of divination.” By Julia at 49th Paralell


Monday May 22, 2017
2:43pm
5 minutes
An interview with Chani Nicholas in lennyletter.com

Aunt Bobby moves to a ranch but hates horses
Mama Lilia tells her if she wants to hear what her voice sounds like
she should go before the noise comes
Aunt Bobby sells all her personal belongings but keeps Aunt Kay’s ashes in the urn
puts a label on the side, marked “fragile/necessary”
leaves her on the mantle, apology foregone or forgotten
Mama Lilia tells her peace is in taking care of living land and the more the better
Aunt Bobby staples scrap paper together to make her own notebook
She sharpens her number 2 pencils and sticks them in her hair like a cross,
like protection
Mama Lilia tells her to write the songs her bones sing to her
when she is alone in the wild

“and they’ll break your heart” by Sasha on her balcony


Sunday May 21, 2017
10:01pm
5 minutes
trueactivist.com

This thing we pretend we know
even those hand holding
white haired beauties
shuffling along
place after place
for sixty odd years
even they don’t know.

I pretend to know
what is going through
your head when your
brow furrow
your jaw clenches
your nostrils flare.

I occasionally appreciate
the mystery of you
when I’m rested
caffeinated
exercised
but mostly
I long to know
without having to ask
“what’s wrong?”

“even if it was just an honest mistake” by Sasha on her couch


Saturday May 20, 2017
10:51pm
5 minutes
Soft Taco
Fernando Raguero


It was an honest mistake
the graze against the belly
of the hummingbird
the beast
the open mouthed devil
It was a beautiful chaos
the storm whipping hair
across cheeks
across water
across history

Here we are
gazing into the barrel of the gun
toe to toe with destruction
eye to eye with the open sky

I don’t like the taste
of apology
a penny
on my tongue

“I tried to get Ben to go see it” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Friday May 19, 2017
10:53pm
5 minutes
Overheard at Alex and Charles’ place

Ben makes the potato salad and I roast corn on the barbecue. We’ve barely spoken all day. His parents are due in twenty-five minutes. Ben puts Kieth Jarret on the record player and it spills out of the screen door. I char the the corn, and bite my lip. Cecilia, Ben’s mother, had a stroke in July and she’s not herself, or, she’s a new version. It hurts Ben to see her, and so he doesn’t as much. I asked him what was wrong this morning when he seemed grouchy, moping around in his ratty plaid pyjama pants.

“and they’ll break your heart” by Julia at her desk


Sunday May 21, 2017
6:14pm
5 minutes
trueactivist.com

My sister gave birth to a beautiful baby a week ago. It is the happiest my entire family has ever been, and I’m including the time my mom caved and let us get KFC the day we moved into our new house. My sister called her Cleo and all of us can swear we’ve never known love until her. Harper’s doing great. She has a glow. She looks as calm as if she’d been a mother her whole life. It doesn’t look as hard as I thought it would be, of course Harper has always been good at figuring things out. Cleo latched right away and seeing my baby sister stroke her daughter’s cheek as they bond there in the rocking chair–it’s all I need to see to send me into a fit of emotion. I am overcome by how beautiful it all is. Even Danya is in awe, and we never thought she’d step foot in our parents’ house since she tried to burn it down in 1994.

“even if it was just an honest mistake” by Julia on her couch


Saturday May 20, 2017
10:48pm
5 minutes
Soft Taco
Fernando Raguero


he didn’t mean to hurt me
told me so after the dance
said the excitement got to him
said the music was too loud
a hundred I love yous and I’m sorrys
interchangeable and frequent
I never said it back
never wanted him to know that
my love was bigger than my hurt
that he could get away with
twisting the skin on my back
gently
until it popped
and then the explanations came
and wouldn’t stop
he needed to eat something
he needed to feel something
he wasn’t thinking about me it
wasn’t personal or punishment
even if it felt exactly like both of those two things
I wanted to stop crying but the tears told me what was real
not the other way around
release release go to sleep
release release go to sleep
told me I should be over it
by now
said that I say it’s okay but I don’t ever forgive anyone
not really

“I tried to get Ben to go see it” by Julia on her couch


Friday May 19, 2017
1:55am
5 minutes
overheard at Alex and Charles’ place

On a Monday we asked him if he was coming with us or planning to and he said no
told us he had better things to do
said that we’d better forget about him all together since he’s more trouble than he’s worth
the next day we asked him again
he waved us off like flies, bothering his face
we begged him when he said no
we asked for a better reason
and he didn’t like that very much

On Saturday we swung by his place again and he said he didn’t know who we were
He said we were crazy for thinking
we were family
“why would I go anywhere with a bunch of spies!”
nobody had the heart to tell him
that Alma was breathing her last.

“stop on the platform” by Julia at her desk


Thursday May 18, 2017
7:45pm
5 minutes
Graduation FAQ

if there is a time for watching sunsets, it is now
the sky puts on a show and we are all allowed to love it
you are my walking Cuckoo clock, I always know what
time it isn’t, I’m surprised that it still surprises you

The ad in the subway has an hour glass and the words
“tick tock”
The rest is too small to see
I don’t know what it’s for, but it looks dangerous
who ever though to put hours in something so fragile,
and what if it breaks open and we don’t ever
get them back?

if the sky wants to dance, who am I to turn my back
there is time for beauty in this place too
when it is the nourishment keeping us in motion

“stop on the platform” by Sasha at her desk


Thursday May 18, 2017
9:05am
5 minutes
Graduation FAQ

I’ll carve a statue of you
in soapstone and lapis and rose quartz
for your heart
You’ll stand before me
more regal than the Lovers
more regal than the bow of the ship
that sails the seven seas
I’ll spend years on your nose
your hips
your clavicle
I’ll even build you an amethyst brain
No one will know that it’s in there
under the other layers
When you woke up this morning
you told me about a dream you’d had
You were being chased by buffalo

“This I wore when I met Margaret Thatcher.” By Julia at her desk


Wednesday May 17, 2017
5:17pm
5 minutes
Women in Clothes
Sheila Heti, Heidi Julavits, Leanne Shapton and 639 Others


We didn’t break bread until we had broken each other
into pieces
the stir before sunset set our dining room to
incubation, warming the alibis of forgotten promises
She was wearing sheer nylons with a tinge of lavender
She was wearing someone else’s face, not mine, not hers
Standing on opposite corners of our equally divided turf
we had to wonder, is this artifical power or are you really
stronger there by the kitchen and I better next to the balcony?
The show is going on outside our tiny terrarium of
heart ache and mishandled history
Our secrets, both undone and left spilling
onto the floor that seperates us
from forgiveness and missing
our reservation

“This I wore when I met Margaret Thatcher.” By Sasha at her desk


Wednesday May 17, 2017
11:20am
5 minutes
Women in Clothes
Sheila Heti, Heidi Julavits, Leanne Shapton and 639 Others


Margaret introduces herself with only her first name. It’s a habit. And a good one. The women, a murder of crows, gather around the snack table and nibble on marble cheese, melba toast, grapes, wedges of cantaloupe.

“So Margaret,” Daisy says, wiping her little hands on a little floral napkin, “What brings you to Gastoville?” She says the name of the town, the graveyard they all stand on, like it’s someplace on the Mayan Riviera. It most certainly is not.

“My husband got a job at the university,” Margaret says, gulping down Pinot Grigio.

“Oh?” Says Daisy. Margaret wonders what Daisy would do if she knew that she had lipstick on her teeth. “And what’s his name?”

“Brad Thatcher. He’s in the History Department,” Margaret scans the crows.

“she barely ever wore dresses” by Sasha on her couch


Tuesday May 16, 2017
10:04pm
5 minutes
from an interview wth Ingrid Michaelson
Jezebel.com


Her favourite thing to do on her days off (Monday and Tuesday) is
to go to the vintage stretch along Elderwood St.
Right when the stores open. She thumbs through
silk and taffeta, satin and spandex.
She doesn’t try anything on.
That’s her rule,
at least until she’s out of debt. But she touches
the clothes, like lovers, like a darling
kitten, like the world she wishes she lived in more.
This morning she buys a scarf for three dollars
blue with small yellow daisies.
Standing on the sidewalk,
the sun on her face,
she ties it around her neck and continues on.

“she barely ever wore dresses” by Julia on her couch


Tuesday May 16, 2017
9:54pm
5 minutes
from an interview wth Ingrid Michaelson
Jezebel.com


She barely ever wore dresses, mostly skirts.
She was great at piecing things together or
making decsions.
Seeking only and ever comfort as
resitance, and I can understand
when you feel like it
is missing from your earlier drafts
And no shadow has touched her lids
and no jewelry rescued from the discount bin

“I waited twenty minutes, then thirty.” by Julia on the skytrain


Monday May 15, 2017
3:27pm
5 minutes
GHOSTLY WOMAN
ZOË BOSSIERE


AJ: Jesus fucking Christ, Tannis, will you close your gaping mouth for even two fucking seconds?
TANNIS: Why are you being so fucking icy with me? What did I fucking even do?
AJ: NOTHING, JUST SHUT UP.
TANNIS: SERIOUSLY?
*silence
*silence
*silence
TANNIS: I’m going to go ahead and assume you need me to sit with you but you are too afraid to admit that you’re fucked up because you know that when you put it to words, it automatically becomes true, but just so you know, I have a teeth cleaning appointment in 2 hours so my support for you is going to be limited.
*silence
*silence,shuffle
*shuffle,silence, deep breath
TANNIS: Oh when the saints…go marching in…oh when the–
AJ: Okay, okay, I’m fucked up.

“I waited twenty minutes, then thirty.” By Sasha at JJ Bean


Monday May 15, 2017
3:25pm at JJ Bean on Cambie
5 minutes
Ghostly Woman on The Rumpus
Zoe Bossiere


I do three shots of tequila before I walk the
seven blocks to the bar where I order a glass of
white wine and wait

and wait


and wait.

Eventually he arrives smelling of rum and sex
and man and rain and sweat

and man.

You’re late
I say
I got caught up
He says
I was about to leave
I say
He looks at me like no woman has ever
called his bluff no woman has ever met
him with a scowl
I’m here now
He says
You’re late
I say.

“super slinky.” By Sasha at her kitchen table


Sunday May 14, 2017
9:57pm
5 minutes
From the pack of guitar strings

Sadie flips pancakes at the old stove that you’ve got to kick on it’s right side to get going. She’s made them just out of bananas, almond butter and eggs, blended in the Magic Bullet. She’s a witch (and I mean that as the highest compliment) in the kitchen and the rest of us are her disciples, watching as she sprinkles cinnamon, hemp hearts, gogi berries. Marlene gave birth only two weeks ago and whenever she’s away from Arlo for longer than thirty minutes, her nipples start leaking. She’s got big, wet circles on her purple tank top. “No one tells you that this happens,” she says, looking down. Sadie kisses her on the cheek, and hands her a pancake, fresh from the skillet.

“super slinky.” by Julia at her desk


Sunday May 14, 2017
9:47pm
5 minutes
from the pack of guitar strings

Keaton brings home a box under his arm, covered by his coat,
he hopes for the sound of running
Daddy’s home, the moment they’ve all be waiting for
Dawn usually hears the car door and knows
Delia sometimes comes outside if Iris lets her
there is a silence where the noise should be
there is a box for the girls but there are no girls
for the box
Keaton calls out, Daddy’s home!
no one responds
Iris!
nothing
He sets down the box next to the broken floor lamp
Iris says if we don’t trip over it every
day we’ll never think to take it out
He walks slowly, the house creaking with empty
Iris?
a wash of dread pulls him under
he doesn’t know what to do
Suddenly the peep peep of a toddler unable to keep
a secret
another laugh, then
SURPRISE!!
Happy Birthday Daddy!

“Fine then, you get out.” by Julia on H’s couch


Saturday May 13, 2017
10:37am
5 minutes
Oil and Water
Robert Chafe


“We don’t need you, Karen. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
Sandi could have been worse to her mother, but she knew she could cut her deep enough by calling her by her name. Karen didn’t like it when her kids called her that but Sandi always used Mom. It was Brock and Alison who wounded her usually, ignoring her messages, refusing to call her by Mom in public. They reduced her to a grain of rice. Sandi was always defending her. She’d tell everybody that her mother was a good person. But this time she had fallen asleep with a cigarette in her mouth while babysitting Sandi’s only son.

“Fine then, you get out.” By Sasha at her desk


Saturday May 13, 2017
9:34am
5 minutes
Oil and Water
Robert Chafe


Budgie makes the sign of the cross whenever I mention Anton.

“We’ve been dating for almost three months,” I say. “You’re really going to have to come around.”

Budgie never liked when I made a new friend, let alone went on dates with someone. Scared Henry McAlister away, in fact. He’d be sitting in the window, like a statue when we left and we got home. Did he move when we were out eating burgers and seeing a show at the Dominion? No one knows.

“Humph,” Budgie says, opening a can of 7Up.

“You should really stop drinking that stuff,” I say, wiping a layer of dust off of the coffee table. “It has about twelve teaspoons of sugar in it, Budg, and it’s not even ten o’clock!”

“it won’t matter what house I move into” by Julia on her couch


Friday May 12, 2017
12:09am
5 minutes
Love Warrior
Glennon Doyle Melton


under this roof you will
not lock the doors
under my roof you will not know something that I do not
do as I say, not as I do
do not correct my grammar
do not cry about every thing
do not forget that I would never let anything happen to you
do not raise your voicd to me
do not forget to mix vodka with orange juice
hi sweetie
Cut the garlic, fine
You’re going to be, fine
I love you

“it won’t matter what house I move into” by Sasha on her couch


Friday May 12, 2017
9:51pm
5 minutes
Love Warrior
Glennon Doyle Melton


Gramma takes us in after the house burns down. We move into her attic, me and Kate and Selma. Ma and Freddie McFly go to the Spencers’. Selma says that they might be swingers, but Kate and I say, “please don’t make us picture that.” Gramma never recovered after Gramps died. She doesn’t smile, or laugh, or do the crossword puzzles. She makes us toast with raspberry jam in a little bowl. No butter in sight. “We can just use jam from the jar, Gram,” says Kate. Gramma scowls. Sometimes, at night, when all the lights are out and we are three in a row in the king bed, we hear her whistling the Canadian anthem.

“I lied all the time” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Thursday May 11, 2017
10:54am
5 minutes
from a quote by Louis C.K
Sunbeams of The Sun (May 2017 issue)


Snakes on my tongue I wonder about
bus rides and vomit and dust mites
and fingers tracing leg veins and
maple syrup on the table carving
sticky carving gentle carving
hard carving bread and butter

You ask me if I’m happy and
I’ve never been more translucent
You’ve never been more tired
Are you lying to me
you ask
and I guarantee you that the
snake has plans to colonize
the season

“they fought amongst themselves” by Sasha at her desk


Wednesday May 10, 2017
9:49pm
5 minutes
True Confessions Of Adrian Albert Mole
Sue Townsend


When I saw you for the first time I wasn’t sure about you. I couldn’t believe that you came from my body, my place where I’d lived for thirty nine years. “You’ll never get pregnant,” they’d told me – furrowed brows and lips like a line drawn with a Sharpie – “it’s just not possible”. I swore at the midwife. She was a real cunt, telling me to breathe, trying to feed me frozen mango juice in the shape of little hearts.

“I lied all the time” by Julia at her desk


Thursday May 11, 2017
10:04pm
5 minutes
from a quote by Louis C.K
Sunbeams of The Sun (May 2017 issue)


five years old, Nonna visits,
leaves her face creams tubed in the upstairs bathroom
curious, five years old, sneaks into the upstairs bathroom
counts the black tile, counts the white,
opens the cream, smears it on, five years old,
closes it, runs away to pretend that nothing is out of the ordinary
mother, thirty-five years old, yells at all of us
because one of us, five years old, left the tubes partially open
Nonna wants to know who would, since she wouldn’t
five years old wants to blame it on the upstairs bathroom ghost
thirty-five years old asks flame on lips for the last time,
shoots missile from eyes, no prisoners
five years old, scared, ashamed, caught, decides to lie
blames it on the upstairs bathroom ghost,
learns guilt, confesses
one hour later

“they fought amongst themselves” by Julia at her desk


Wednesday May 10, 2017
9:42pm
5 minutes
True Confessions Of Adrian Albert Mole
Sue Townsend


It took a long time for us to go back and visit
the pussy willow tree overgrowing the back deck
so much they chopped it down in all the impulsive
places
the gold stars sponge painted on the downstairs bathroom walls
the office converted into a nursery
the playroom now belonging to the boy who once
convinced me to show him my orange star underwear
They smiled sweetly at us like they weren’t responsible
for making us move to a better town filled with
worse people
they never apologized for the pussy willow tree
or the black berry bush
or the playroom
they volly whispers back and forth
about asking us if we’d like something to eat,
a danish or a banana

“What is rooted” by Julia at her desk


Tuesday May 9, 2017
11:02pm
5 minutes
Tao Te Ching
Translated by Stephen Mitchell


somewhere between a beautiful conversation and
a shot-to-the-heart epiphany
you are unfolding to me
beneath a hot cloud
I am here too and I am on fire
and you are coming undone

It is now and maybe only
now that I do not feel sorry for
myself for feeling
so much
Your face betrays your every kindness
and this is what trusting feels like
this is the circle that happiness draws

when we dance into peace offerings with wobbly knees
we do not know this hard wood floor
but these walls have seen us try

“What is rooted” by Sasha on her couch


Tuesday May 9, 2017
9:40pm
5 minutes
Tao Te Ching
Translated by Stephen Mitchell


“Stop calling me that!”

“What… Tuna?!”

“Nooooo!”

“Tuna tuna tuna tuna tu-na-na-na-na-na!”

“I do not smell like fish I do not!”

“Um, it’s a human thing that if you’re exposed to a smell for long enough you just start to get used to it… It’s natural.”

“Girls?!” Mom calls from the landing. “What are you doing up there?”

“Mini says that I smell like fish!”

“Min, leave her alone, okay? Go do something useful like putting away the clothes on the floor of your room.”

Mini leaves Isabelle with a glare, holding her nose as she trots away.

“When do we become adults?” by Julia in her bed


Monday May 8, 2017
11:34pm
5 minutes
intrepidtheatre.com

when the night is young and our bones crave fresh sheets instead of fresh beers, we are wondering, if we’ll ever need ice again
and some of us don’t look like age has visited but our joints know it’s here
when it rains
when the sky gets dark
we are wondering if we’ll ever laugh at the morning like we used to
if we’ll ever buy 5 cent candies from the corner store
we are wondering if knowing is growing and if growing is expected
we are wondering, if time will ever slow down so we can see it

“When do we become adults?” By Sasha at JJ Bean


Monday May 8, 2017
5:22pm
5 minutes
http://www.intrepidtheatre.com

“Wise beyond her years”
she was also
the master of
the baby voice.
She shrugged her
shoulders and
giggled down
at painted toes.
Adult body came
too fast comes
too round.
“This isn’t what
I wanted,” she
whispers to
her pillow.
“Wise beyond her years”
a spell cast after
the wall fell.
“Wise beyond her years”
a blessing spoken
over dinner beeswax
candles lighting
changing faces.
“Wise beyond her years”
outgrowing jeans and
shoes seeing all the
noticing
growing
breaking

“borrows and ruins your clothes” by Sasha on her couch


Sunday May 7, 2017
9:42pm
5 minutes
From a tweet by Mara Wilson

The sweet sluttery of fingering through your sister’s closet, touching the dewy tank tops in maroon, purple and grey, the high-waisted jeans, the eyelet dress that you know for a fact she got for thirty-two dollars at the thrift store in Kingston. It’s a drug you can’t quit – touching her stuff – and you wonder about the morality of it, the fairness of it, the injustice of it. You know that every time you do it, you cross a boundary. You know that. But you keep doing it.

“borrows and ruins your clothes” by Julia on couch


Sunday May 7, 2017
9:38pm
5 minutes
from a tweet by Mara Wilson

Jess helps me get ready to go out and meet my co-star, the director, and the show runners. She lets me borrow her black pumps and the sheer olive top that looks great with my faux-leather pants. She lends me jewelry. She boosts me up.
I arrive, nervous, to the cocktail bar. I am tipsy after the one drink I let him order for me. I almost leave my bag.
At the restaurant I am drunk again. I order a dish but I have no idea what I’m getting. The drunk laughs. The drunk tries to hide her shame that she ended up just getting a pasta. The drunk spills pasta in cream sauce on Jess’s sheer olive shirt. She stains it. She almost leaves her bag.

“All winter we went on like that” by Sasha on her balcony


Saturday May 6, 2017
6:07pm
5 minutes
After Birth
Elisa Albert


My brother Chris and Aaron became friends the summer of 1995. I would watch them playing outside from my bedroom window. It had the perfect view – straight out. We lived in a bungalow. If I didn’t have my bedroom light on, they couldn’t tell that I was watching. I liked Aaron okay, but didn’t trust him. Something in my belly knew that he wasn’t safe. It was a Saturday. Chris was in the kitchen heating up pizza pockets in the toaster oven. Our parents were across the street drinking palomas on the Hendrickson’s porch. I watched Aaron pull the legs off of a tree frog. He held the wriggling body in his hand, a small smile on his face.

“All winter we went on like that” by Julia at her desk


Saturday May 6, 2017
6:30pm
5 minutes
After Birth
Elisa Albert


It was a tough one with all the rain seeping into all my dry
I think it’s safe to say that something was trying to be planted
Something needed care enough to sprout

I used to dread cleaning my apartment when the grey outside made the inside feel dirty
Today I swept up a spider and saluted to her as she crawled away and into a safe place
The light painted my home in a newness that I’ve been waiting for
Everything on the shelves, a choice, a decision, an opinion
Spring has signed the contract, says she can take it from here
I cannot wish for something better than feeling home in the home I live in
I give thanks for the cupboards that hold every envelope, every light bulb

“This is what you’ve been waiting for” by Sasha at her desk


Friday May 5, 2017
6:15pm
5 minutes
The Gate
Marie Howe


We met on a Wednesday. I remember that. Iron and Wine was playing. Melissa was having people over to celebrate her “retirement”. She wasn’t actually, she’d just changed careers. We all had, once or twice by then. You were wearing a red sweater and horn-rimmed glasses. Your hair was long. We talked about meditating before eating, the cheapest cities to live in, and when we would give up social media.

“This is what you’ve been waiting for” by Julia at JJ Bean


Friday May 5, 2017 at JJ Bean
5:12pm
5 minutes
The Gate
Marie Howe


my family speaks poetry through me as I walk from my house to a place that isn’t
I am stopped on the sidewalk with the urge to take notes
They are dictating faster than I can write
The stories from our childhood, inspiration enough after the drought
I am greedy with rain and the secrets of our youth
the clues to finding solace in a memory built from our old garage,
the time we picked strawberries at the farm and made milkshakes,
the time we sang to Mariah Carey on the back porch and I made everyone
turn around to listen when it was my turn,
the time we got hats with the olympic rings on them at Mcdonalds,
the time we rode around on horses while they defecated,
the time I asked my older cousin if we could have a “talk” because I was feeling left out, the time they got the shots for whipping baby field mice against the brick

“The pleasures and perils of a drug-altered mind” by Sasha at JJ Bean


Thursday May 4, 2017 at JJ Bean
2:16pm
5 minutes
Vancouver Sun
Thursda May 4, 2017


Karla wears pink heart-shaped sunglasses. Sublime is playing on a beat-up boombox plugged in on the porch. Adi’s backyard sprawls long and wide, pimpled with dandelions. I’m not quite scared, but I’m not quite excited. I wonder where he got the weed, and if I’ll become addicted. How glamorous. I wonder if I’ll cough or my eyes will turn red. I wonder if we’ll laugh more than usual. Bare legs scratched by the grass, he lights up the joint and we pass it. Karla always knows what she’s doing, or is a very good pretender. I am a bit more bumbly, a bit more rosy-cheeked, a bit more novice in general. I do cough. I don’t feel high. I wait and wonder what all the fuss was about. “Lots of people don’t feel it their first time,” Adi says, laying back and stretching out, skinny legs sticking out of his cut offs, arms long. The clouds move like water. Karla puts her sunglasses on me.

“The pleasures and perils of a drug-altered mind” by Julia at JJ Bean


Thursday May 4, 2017 at JJ Bean
2:16pm
5 minutes
Vancouver Sun
Thursda May 4, 2017


My aunt Barb tells me that she wrote herself a note when she “wasn’t straight” about how the “negativity is too loud in her head” and “cutting through all her good thoughts”. We (the family, collectively) got her into medicinal marijuana after her husband passed away last June. We wanted him to try it but he refused to smoke the stuff even after we showed him all the videos of people his age trying it. Barb is in love with it. She calls me at least once a day with her “new thoughts”. Yesterday she told me that “the sky is trying to kill her” and that she “would go but there is laundry to be folded”. In a meeting with the cousins, we secretly discuss Barb’s usage and pat ourselves on the back for helping her out. Then her daughter, Dina, raises her hand timidly. “My mom says she wants to try crack next!”

“I tried to do it years ago” by Julia on her couch


Wednesday May 3, 2017
4:43pm
5 minutes
Devices On Standby
Joan Didion


I remember writing letters to my future self
I made it pretty clear that by 24 I would be married just like my mom
that I would have dated a man for at least 6 years before the wedding
that I would have met my husband in high school
that my first love would be my only
I thought it was a pretty good model
today is my parents’ 37th anniversary
and they are still happy

I told myself I would be a gymnast and/or a lawyer and/or a children’s author
(.5/3 if you’re counting)
I don’t remember if I had factored in life being any different than how my 10, or 12, or 17 year old self imagined it to be
I am 30 now and I am not married
I have dated a man for 7 years
and I met him in university
(1/3-if you’re counting)
I am a writer and/ or poet and/or artist
I am not like the letters said I’d be
but I am happy

“I tried to do it years ago” by Sasha at her desk


Wednesday May 3, 2017
1:07pm
5 minutes
Devices on Standby
Kelly Ann Malone


Silas spits out my nipple like a cherry pit and it’s left hanging out, that awkward cousin no one really likes who is still invited to sedar. The subway lurches to a stop and the woman sitting across from us smiles, a condescending situation of worry and furrow. A punk listening to ridiculously loud music (you only get one set of eardrums, my tattooed friend) pretends a breast is not there, beside him. Maybe he doesn’t notice. Maybe he’s over that shit. Bless him. Silas starts to mew. Sometimes I wonder if he’s part squirrel. Or rabbit.

“I had been able only to grieve” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Tuesday May 2, 2017
8:58pm
5 minutes
The Year of Magical Thinking
Joan Didion


Grief is a sister to
all of us I’ve come
to know this now better
than ever

These days
she sits in the lotus
position
in my throat

unnamed
untamed
uninvited
unbelievable

She wags her finger
at the lazy zeal of
a screen made of mirrors
chasing a time before
the dollar signs and the
gas station blow jobs

“Chickpeas / Tahini” by Sasha at her desk


Monday May 1, 2017
11:02pm
5 minutes
From a grocery list

The way to his heart was through his taste
buds blooming on the upside down tree
dripping tahini and
honey
Begging for a lick
She made him falafel and pickled lemon
Peach sorbet
She tossed mint with arugula and massaged
kale with olive oil and vinegar
The way to his heart
The map she makes every day
charting the topography of a love
story that is still being written
right before their eyes
She blends tahini and chickpeas
garlic
salt
the rhythm of the pulsing
the rhythm of her heart
his heart
this heart
beats

“I had been able only to grieve” by Julia on the couch


Tuesday May 2, 2017
8:50pm
5 minutes
The Year of Magical Thinking
Joan Didion


we lost our muscles
left them somewhere between here and there
the radio show was static familiar
we counted the clicks and the white noise like ducks in a row
we are not walking or running
the streets are filled with other people’s shoes
we had no time for writing cards
to express condolences
to each other
there were too many floors to find
too many beds to melt
too many casserole dishes to wash
we promised to press our palms together every hour
to remind us what living flesh felt like
the telephone had to be disconnected
too many hearts bleeding on the line

“Chickpeas / tahini” by Julia on her couch


Monday May 1, 2017
11:06pm
5 minutes
from a grocery list

in the event of me being put
in charge to host a dinner
party
I would air on the side of
Italian
garnish with
basil
everywhere
tomato
garlic/bread
The music would be chosen with
more stress than should
accompany
a fun night
with friends
eventually confident
Golden Oldies
no one can hate the Golden fucking Oldies
and if they arrive early
(and they always do)
there will be a cheese based
plate or chips, or dips, or good
conversation, until
the food I mistimed
is ready to be served
All Oldies All The Time

“hangover tomorrow” by Sasha at her desk


Sunday April 30, 2017
10:45pm
5 minutes
from an
adman media Instagram story


When Miley says goodbye she leans in close so you can smell her. She doesn’t wear a scent or anything. It’s her natural smell. You breathe it in, without being obvious. You remember when Chuck Landspergas, who sat behind you in AP English, used to sniff your hair and how obvious he was about it. No tact. Miley’s phone dings and she’s on it, right away, that’s how she does. You pretend not to be interested, but you are. You really are. You always are. “I’m meeting Bee at the movie theatre in an hour…” She says, reading your mind.

“let it come through.” By Sasha on her balcony


Saturday April 29, 2017
1:41pm
5 minutes
From a quote by Jackson Pollock

LET IT COME DOWN
that acid rain
LET IT COME THROUGH
those brilliant unicorn
bubble dreams
LET IT COME OUT
the savage and
the succulent
LET IT SHAKE
all those beautiful
jiggly bits
LET IT GO
LET IT ALL GO
LET IT SCREAM
HErE I aM
I aM aWaKe!
LET IT KNOW
the very pearl
of wisdom
that lies in the
very centre of the earth
is the sound of
your laughter
head thrown back
eyes closed
the very pearl of wisdom

“hangover tomorrow” by Julia on her couch


Sunday April 30, 2017
10:05pm
5 minutes
from an
adman media Instagram story


my head is currently being occupied by a transport truck.
I’ve decided I’ll be calling in sick tomorrow. It’s not a complex line of reasoning. But it needs to be said. So my feet can hear that they won’t need to go anywhere. So my hips can hear that they will get to be opened. So my tongue can hear that it can rest from having to carry me all these days. My body won’t believe me till I say it out loud. Until I mean it.