Friday June 30, 2017
Overheard on the 7
I think about space a lot. I always have. I was adjusting lighting and moving chairs around from the time I could walk. I was bossing people around. I think about how bodies move in space, and if there’s enough space, and space space, like Milky Way Orion’s Belt space. I sometimes lie awake and think about the baby I really hope to have one day and how much space she will take up in her lifetime. Is there space for what I want to do and say and make? I often get in the way of my space, shrinking and sucking and squishing so that I take up less of it.
Thursday June 29, 2017
From a text
You told me that you wanted to take my picture
but when you did
seventeen weeks later
it was a roaring disappointment.
I thought you got me like you had
actually read my birth chart
like you actually knew
the last four digits of my phone number.
I thought you were joking when you said
you had a girlfriend.
What kind of women am I when I hate on
her for being on your lips
when we’re naked?
What kind of woman am I when I shove off
and over and imagine the stillness of her
there a phantom limb of a maybe?
Maybe it has nothing to do with
the woman-ness that I always
bring it back to.
Maybe my bottom line is a
different kind of colour.
Wednesday June 28, 2017
From an email
“It’s not permanent,” Izzy says, braiding my hair. I love the feeling, and ask her to do it any chance I get. There’s a chicken roasting in the oven and we’ll eat it whenever it’s done. Doesn’t matter that it’s almost eleven. Izzy’s parents own a restaurant so they are always out at night, and it’s prime hang time. They stock their house with these amazing ingredients. Her Dad even went to Italy a few weeks ago, just to get cheese and tomato sauce and flour. Izzy only came out of her shell when we started hanging out. Before that she barely spoke. She’d read and make bracelets in the bleachers at lunch.