“writing poems on placemats.” By Sasha in the bath

Thursday, March 15, 2018
10:32pm
5 minutes
Garlic In My Ear
Sparrow

I don’t know if I want to do this anymore. Feels so fake. Feels so pushed. Feels so full of hurt and past and mistake and shit I don’t know. There aren’t words for the places we’ve been but all we’ve got all words all we are are words all this is is words. Words are empty so much of the time. Words are nothing. Words are my blood but I hate them today. I’m tired of setting the timer and pretending that I know how to do this. I’m tired of forgetting and then remembering and wondering if you’ll ever call. I still love you. I still love this. I still love the patience and the practise and the words.

“writing poems on placemats.” By Julia on the 99

Thursday, March 15, 2018
6:44pm
5 minutes
Garlic In My Ear
Sparrow

Jerie told me she’d only move back to Vancouver if I could find her a two bedroom apartment that wasn’t being eaten. By what she did not specify, but the easy answer would be “at all”. I first asked her to come back when Elliot got in that car crash and was put into a coma. Surely someone in a coma couldn’t work the corner office. I wasn’t hoping for him to die, just, stay where he was. Jerie said it was a shitty thing to do and wasn’t moving on principal. I hadn’t touched her skin in 5 months. I guess I got desperate. She was right. But how do you woo someone with a bachelor apartment and a bachelor salary? The second time I asked her was after I got the side job at McDonalds. I started writing her reasons why on napkins. Wrote her sonnets on the backs of greasy placemats.