“as the cells of his scalp” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Thursday March 21, 2019
7:36am
5 minutes
Candlelight
Tony Hoagland

Take out the trash to the bin in the garage. Wheel the bin to the curb. The neighbourhood is still sleeping. Mandy and the boys are still sleeping, too. Jacob was up in the night crying. Mandy went to him, and then came and got me. He was dreaming about monsters again. “No more scary movies,” Mandy whispered as we climbed back into bed forty minutes later. Thank God for the coffee maker, wooing me towards the kitchen when the alarm goes off. Thank God for coffee. Mrs. Henderson across the street in her quilted housecoat and winter boots. She waves.

“How are you holding up?” I say, and then regret breaking the silence, fracturing the stillness of this Wednesday morning.

“we minimize our vast social problems.” By Sasha on the 9

Wednesday March 20, 2019
1:12pm
5 minutes
Filling the Void: Bruce K. Alexander on how our culture is making us addicted
Jari Chevalier

I’m planning a party for Jess’ birthday and it hits me that you won’t be there. This is one of those firsts that Priya, the grief counsellor I’ve been seeing, has talked about. This is the first time I really cry. I’m not a crier, and not because I don’t think men should or something like that. I’m just not a crier. But today I let it all out. No one’s around so it’s fine. I sit on the kitchen floor and I cry and cry and cry. I don’t worry about Adam getting home, or what it might sound like to the neighbours. It just all comes out.

“exhale passively” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Tuesday March 19, 2019
4:21pm
5 minutes
Physiotherapy Instructions

You always learn things the hard way, Patricia, and that’s just not how it has to be! When I was your age I was cautious, I was careful, I was paying attention to what was happening around me! I see you, all a mess all the time, running around like a chicken with your head cut off and, frankly, I feel bad for you. Why don’t you take a page out of Gin’s book? She’s really got her life together, and she’s three years younger than you! Virginia knows what she wants and she isn’t afraid to go for it, but not at the expense of her pride or self worth… or reputation.

“apartment door was closed and triple-locked” by Sasha on her couch

Monday March 18, 2019
9:42pm
5 minutes
The Langoliers
Stephen King

Paul doesn’t know when he started checking. He can’t answer Shauna when she asks. He sits quietly, top button of his green shirt buttoned, hands folded in his lap.

“I’m not mad,” Shauna mutters, which is a strange thing to say.

“Is it getting worse?” Paul keeps his eyes on his sneaker laces.

“I would say so…” Shauna takes her hair out of a ponytail. She needs a haircut.

“I guess it has,” Paul blinks ten times.

“I just wish you’d come to me before all of this,” Shauna gestures to the apartment door, closed and triple locked.

“A yellow ball of sun.” By Sasha at her desk

Sunday March 17, 2019
12:13pm
5 minutes
The Lovely Bones
Alice Sebold

A yellow ball of sun in her mouth
she shakes her curls and curls her toes
Electrified by the season she is all muscle
and heart all arms and goodness

An avocado pit in her hand she
holds on and holds on and releases
only when the time is right
New sprouts growing only stapled
to the possibility

She isn’t afraid of dabbling
or babbling and she isn’t self conscious
it’s a miracle in this time
miracle on the wingtip of crows

“wonders what’s in this woman’s fridge” by Sasha at her desk

Saturday March 16, 2019
7:54pm
5 minutes
Malarky
Anakana Schofield

Hoisin, grainy mustard, almost finished mayo. Vegan butter. A half eaten pear, browning at the edges. A full carton of Tropicana. Sliced turkey in brown paper, three pieces left. A small wrinkled lime, forgotten in the crisper. A head of romaine. A stray jalapeño. Two oranges. A pepperoni stick on a plate, two bites gone. A carton of blueberries. Three organic eggs. A knob of old cheddar, in cling wrap. Tomato paste in a squeeze tube.

“a long, slow, squirmy moment for both of us.” By Sasha on her couch

Friday March 15, 2019
11:09am
5 minutes
Orange is The New Black
Piper Kerman

In the middle of the night
I’m listening to your rise and fall,
A breath I know by heart, tracing
the outline of your dreaming,
a sound in which magic thrives, a place
where the edges are soft, and there’s
good listening.

I walk to the bathroom, holding
my heavy belly in both my hands, tracking
the street lamp light with half-open eyes.

We found each other again in the tangle
of bed sheets and tongues, discovering
how to do this in all the Pisces
fullness. It’s taken patience.
It always does.

Back in bed I try to fall back to sleep,
turning from one side to the other, a pillow
between my leg, a pillow
where you were.

I write poems to our daughter
in the air with my pointer finger,
my counting sheep.

“staring into the eyes of a giant wasp” by Sasha at her desk

Thursday March 14, 2019
6:20pm
5 minutes
Micro
Michael Crichton and Richard Preston

Man gets on my bus and he smells like piss and oil. “Morning,” I say and he leans in close and shows me his teeth.

“Gotta get to the teeth doc!” Looks like it’s been awhile.

“Take a seat, and we’ll be on our way,” I say. The old lady sitting close moves a few seats back, bringing a handkerchief to her nose. In the rearview mirror I see several people scowl.

“Gotta get to the teeth doc!” My man says again.

I drive because it’s an honourable job. People are always gonna have places to get to. I like my current route. I’m thinking to ask about staying on it for awhile.

End of the line. Man’s still there. He’s fallen asleep.

“with some bullshit approach” by Sasha on her couch

Wednesday March 13, 2019
5:47pm
5 minutes
Created By
Richard Christian Matheson

What scares us fascinates us
Oh such delicate creatures
The news is a fear machine

We glue our eyeballs to our
tiny screens and scroll
The extinctions
The exhaustions
The exhuming
The extreme

Risk and learn
Power off the empathy
because the heart can’t

bear all the hurting

Everything we do
impacts who we are
who our children are
who our parents are

We do everything in connection
Multiplicity
There isn’t organization in the chaos

Turn off the light when
you leave the room
Turn off the tap while brushing teeth
Say

Thank you

“He had to warm the guy up fast” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Tuesday March 12, 2019
8:03am
5 minutes
The Obsidian Chamber
Preston & Child

friend who is no longer friend
who the net couldn’t hold
who is gone now from this everyday
it’s not how i ever thought it would be
but i do know that love comes and goes
and open heartedness only gets us so far
always gets us to the truth

friend who is no longer friend
i hope that you are finally finding the peace
that you so desperately want
or wanted then i hope that
you are supported and enveloped in prayer
it’s okay that you broke things
forgiveness beads in my hand
counting to one hundred and eight
every morning and night

friend who is no longer friend
i don’t know if we’ll find our way back
to each other in this lifetime
but what i do know is that love is the god
i whisper to and who sings through
my voice moves through my body
water finding the same source
finding other water

“This song.” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Monday March 11, 2019
10:08am
5 minutes
Freedomland
Richard Price

We go for nachos before the breastfeeding class. I’m proud of myself for remembering that I should put the seatbelt under my belly, not across. I don’t spend very much time in cars anymore. We order the ones with smoked tofu, corn, pickled onions. We add guacamole, obviously. A good order of nachos feels like you’ve barely made a dent when you’re already starting to get full, and that happens, and I like it. We pack up the leftovers, pay the bill, and I go to the washroom. When I come out, our song is playing. I watch you as you put on your coat and hat, this being who I know so well, who is still such a profound mystery. I am transported back to our wedding day, swaying and twirling in your arms in the middle of a circle of so many that we love.

“no matter how uncomfortable staying has become.” By Sasha in her bed

Sunday March 10, 2019
4:07pm
5 minutes
Devil With a Briefcase
Jan Janzen

You finally know what it is that you need to do
Now it’s just a matter of cracking open the outer shell
Scrambling yourself
Daring to be reborn

You sit with what it is that you need to do
for many long weeks
Sunday to Monday feeling like Winter to Fall
Time is a strange charade

A Sunday in March you dream about flying
your wings are the colour of the future
You can’t put your finger on the truth on your lips
but it’s there and it’s ready

You thought that staying with yourself
in all your stunning wretched you-ness
was just the practise of being alive
But it’s not and you’re not and now you’re

Pushing your fingers through the first bit of light

“You must unlearn the habit of being someone else” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Saturday March 9, 2019
8:14pm
5 minutes
A quote from Herman Hesse

We are all just doing the best we can right? Or, maybe not all of us, but most of us are. When I meet you, you are charcoal fingertips and over-steeped green tea. That was a long time ago. I know that I want to be someone like you, but not quite you, a little less smoky, a little less bitter. You are looking for salvation, or at least a good kisser. I am looking for someone who can teach me about caring less what people think. That was a long time ago. My breath catches when I realize that we’re drifting, that we’re changing, that we’re leaning away. I’ll keep this my secret until you find it, in the front pocket of your red suitcase, or underneath the stairs.

“**NEW CLIENT TO DAZZLE!**” by Sasha on her couch

Friday March 8, 2019
5:02pm
5 minutes
From Nannies On Call

Hi Rebecca. Good morning. How are you? Nice cardigan. That’s your colour. You must be a True Winter… Are you? Those colour wheels? Do you want Miranda to get you a matcha or something? Okay… okay, so… Okay Rebecca, there’s a new client coming in today and it’s your moment. Stan brought them in, but he’s swamped and we talked and we think that it’s your moment. I know you’ve been here six months and we haven’t really given you the responsibility that you were hoping for. I heard a bit from Janice that you were worried? We like to take our time and really hand select the first big pitch someone does, right? And… the time has come, Rebecca. Are you ready to dazzle?

“Roads here are nuts.” By Sasha at her desk

Thursday March 7, 2019
5:40pm
5 minutes
From a text message

The cedars are telling me how
Step slow
Listen
Trust the roots

Moss on the undergrowth
Step slow
Eyelashes wet from dawn
Quiet like the beginning
and the end

In through the nose
and out through the mouth
Faith in the one foot
in front of the other

Surrender in the new
in the trusting
in the perfect
curve of the reach
of the fern

Rumi writes of the field
and it’s where I’m
going

I’ll meet you there

“There are certain cautions” by Sasha on her couch

Wednesday March 6, 2019
7:11am
5 minutes
Prescription for Nutritional Healing
Phyllis A. Baluch, CNC

Look before crossing the road. Wear a bike helmet. Go to the doctor if something is up. Don’t read texts while walking. Buckle your seatbelt. Try your best to have some savings. Have a good handful of friends you can really count on. Write down the birthdays of people that matter. Eat green vegetables. Learn the times tables and learn them well the first time. Organize receipts. Listen to the signs. Renew your passport.

“I can feel it changing!” by Sasha in the bath

Tuesday March 5, 2019
7:02pm
5 minutes
Death of a Salesman
Arthur Miller

New moon coming round the corner
all coy and wondering
what might this March carry
in her womb

What did you want me to be
when you asked the fate-filled
question in the mountain belly
Who did you think I’d become

Traffic soundtrack
and the bath draining
belly swollen with the future
you finger-picking in the living room

Dishes from dinner in the sink
soup for tomorrow’s lunch already packed
this is the me that I’ve become
Full of the tide

“Our self-centred fears whisper at us all day” by Sasha on her couch

Monday March 4, 2019
11:32am
5 minutes
Hallelujah Anyway
Anne Lamott

Wake at four in the morning
turn over turn over sigh and
get up to pee and return and sigh
the brain is off on her race
around the track of worry

Funny where the mind goes
when there’s no distraction
when there’s the peek of the
streetlamp and the sound
of your love’s breath

What if nothing goes how
I hope it goes?
What if I can’t take it?
What if I can’t be there
when he goes?

“scratched plastic Fisher Price drum set” by Sasha at her desk

Saturday March 2, 2019
9:14am
5 minutes
(Lady)bug
Ilyssa Goldsmith

Toys piled high in the corner
Stuffed rabbits and beanie bottomed bears
Cabbage patch kid with freckles and red hair
Plastic kitchen utensils and bowls
cutlery and plates
have been in many small mouths
many small hands
Scratched Fisher Price drum set

Moira doesn’t care to move things
out now that the kids don’t play
with this stuff anymore
She holds on
As we all do
She imagines the sound of the play
of them when they were smaller
when they weren’t rushing in and out

“Why don’t you get rid of this stuff, Mom?”
Angela says with furrowed brow
Too much lip gloss
“I will one day,” Moira
kisses the top of her daughter’s head
remembers when it smelled like Cheerios

“breaks the silence” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Friday March 1, 2019
11:02pm
5 minutes
The First Treatise
Yara Farran

Sat by his bedside
day after day
The Don River moving
outside the floor
to ceiling windows
winter holds on
like holds on
How can we let go?

You astound me with
the openness of your heart
how it can break and bear
the greatest weight at the
same time
How you are capable
with your head in the
jaws of the beast

You both really like
the doctor this month
He’s honest
He reads poetry
When Death Comes

“I almost loved you,” by Sasha in her bed

Thursday February 28, 2019
9:22am
5 minutes
In Dublin
Maura Hanrahan

I almost loved you but you didn’t make the cut. My love is a gold medal and sometimes you got silver, but not gold. Nope, not gold. There was a wedge between the possible and the real and I fantasized about the possible but the real left bite marks and crumbs on the counter. The real left a trail of mouse shit. Crumbs. Mouse shit. I did almost love you though, and that’s an accomplishment. I hope you hold that close. When you’re gazing into the bottom of the latest bottle, when you’re gazing across the body of the latest woman, I hope you hold that fact close.

“which are past their upright peak” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Wednesday February 27, 2019
7:14am
5 minutes
Tulips for Barbara
Ann E. Michael

It’s okay if you want me to leave you be.
I know that it might feel like there’s nothing left to say.
I’m sorry I’m so sorry please forgive me please please I’m sorry.

These are the lines that I practice
piano scales a thousand moments a thousand days
You are held in my mind’s eye
the Wizard of my Oz

I turn forgiveness over in my mouth
a bitter lozenge
it sinks to the bottom of the well
it settles

I send you another letter
this time I say none of the lines
I’ve been practicing
I try something new

Yellow tulips on the table
past their upright peak
a few petals fallen
scattered ashes

“faster than all your sadness” by Sasha at her desk

Tuesday February 26, 2019
9:13am
5 minutes
What To Look For In A Horse
Brett Elizabeth Jenkins

Underneath the layers
a stray fingernail clipping
a rose petal
a thank you card from a million years ago

Your sadness sits
next to the time your mother
forgot your birthday
on top of your first heartbreak
(you never knew it possible
to break without breaking
so fully)

Your sadness sings to you
in the hours when you lie awake
A song you know the tune of
but the words change

“Addiction” by Sasha at work

Monday February 25, 2019
3:40pm
5 minutes
We Need to Talk
An interview with Anne Hallward

Dishes aren’t piled in the sink. In fact, Maxine’s three bowls (one broke), four plates, and half dozen mason jars are neatly arranged on her shelves. The sink drips, and a mark of rust has settled in the basin. Nursing is hard work, and Maxine isn’t home a lot. She works sixty hours a week, sometimes more. Sundays are her special day. She spends Sundays reading The New Yorker and drinking creamy coffee, lazing in bed with sweatpants and wool socks. She does one line of blow at six thirty, before Bill comes over. They’ve been sleeping together for just over three months, and Sunday is their night. Maxine doesn’t want a relationship. She deals with enough shit at work, the last thing she needs is more chatter at home. A good high fuck a week is perfect for her.

“it has become a cliche” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Sunday February 24, 2019
6:28pm
5 minutes
A quote by Tim Flannery

We had something different than all those storybook romances, Clarissa and I. We sure did. When people saw us together they didn’t always know that we were an item. In fact, one time, a bartender asked if we were brother and sister! “No, sir…” Clarissa said, and I just smiled. It feels cliche to talk about a love story that spans five decades, to talk about how you come to know a face better than your own, know the smell of someone’s skin when they are angry or tired. But cliches are born out of something true, and my love for Clarissa, still to this day… it’s true blue.

“hitchhike into the wilderness” by Sasha at her desk

Saturday February 23, 2019
5:56pm
5 minutes
Trail’s End
Sy Safransky

Dragonfly and I hitchhike
to the tidepools and the lagoons
her in a floppy straw hat
and me in a floral sundress

We’re living in an intentional
community on the Big Island of
Hawaii and we’re chopping sugar
cane with machetes and making
papaya salad in exchange for
yoga and meditation classes
and learning how to co-habitat
with a dozen other seekers

In the tidepools we spot
starfish the size of a child’s
head we float on our backs for
hours in the lagoon
We eat three different kinds of avocados
with spoons

“the biographies of our heroes” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Friday February 22, 2019
9:37pm
5 minutes
Political Paralysis
Danusha Veronica Goska

You are my kind of animal
as tender on the outside as
you are on the inside
but a different texture of
tenderness in
side out
side

in the way that
you know how to rest your
head in the jaw of your
brightest demons

in the way that
you write and write
and write by hand

in the way that
you look into my eyes
knowing my textures
almost as you know
your own but it’s
different your
patience it’s
different

in the way that
you can’t pretend

“The silver-haired man’s name” by Sasha on her couch

Thursday February 21, 2019
9:20pm
5 minutes
Girl Underwater
Heather Sellers

I haven’t dated in a very, very long time. I mean it was… I’m not sure about… Rebecca wants me to get on some dating apps, see what’s out there, get back in the game. I resisted and resisted and then finally, on Wednesday, Rebecca was over and we had Thai take-out and drank a bit too much beer and… I haven’t dated in a very, very long time. The guy with the surfboard caught my eye, but he had clearly cropped someone else out of the photo, and… is it a girl? Is that his ex? How odd. How might she feel? No. The silver-haired man’s name is Pedro and he’s definitely beautiful and intelligent and he speaks Portuguese and Italian… how is he still single? Does that say something about him? Casanova?

“the snow falling like confetti.” By Sasha in the bath

Wednesday February 20, 2019
8:01pm
5 minutes
The First Morning
Edward Abbey

snow falling like confetti and all the beautiful people are out walking walking moving through the upside down globe sparkle like the rare diamond that you are wink at the beautiful person so sure so clear so blue skied so freckle and bloom

have i seen you before do i know you where are you from where are you going hey could we please may we please hey wait slow down slow down slow here we go here i am i feel this good when i’m around you

i feel beautiful in this city especially when i’m open-faced clear-faced no more hiding

snow falling like confetti

and we fall again and again

friendships and bluebell babies and penmanship and tacos on the corner

“to calm a stranger” by Sasha on her couch

Tuesday February 19, 2019
10:02pm
5 minutes
Walking at Night
Elizabeth Poliner

A man is screaming in the alley behind the house. I usually avoid that place, where we used to find syringes and condoms. It’s not like that anymore, not usually, but I’m still wary. The man swears and yells, and I wonder what in me overrides the basic human call to comfort someone in need. What if this were a woman? Would it be different? What if I were a man? Would it be different? I peek out the window and see him, bike leaned against a garage, pants wet from the snow. He doesn’t see me.

“I didn’t like my job” by Sasha on her couch

Monday February 18, 2019
8:06am
5 minutes
The Wild Dogs of Hong Kong
Sarah Vallance

I went to Vienna because my heart had been broken, I didn’t like my job, and my mother told me I needed to let her live her own life. I’d always wanted to visit Austria. The reason is slightly embarrassing, so I’ll leave that out. I knew there were old castles, and cobblestone streets, and famous cake. I spoke very little German, but could get by on the trolly or buying groceries. I arrived never having been outside of Canada, with two suitcases and two hundred euros.

“but the monkey will go” by Sasha at her desk

Sunday February 17, 2019
7:42am
5 minutes
Nature Is Strong
Tony Hoagland

the monkeys have been swinging from the vines
and the house is a mess and i keep finding
hair everywhere damn those monkeys
so squawky so articulate so snowy

they are my doing these monkeys and
oh how i will make myself suffer for them
why are they here when i try so hard
why don’t they leave now that i’m in my spring

they are your doing these monkeys and
i will resent you for them for days weeks
i hope not years but maybe
why won’t they scoot when i tell them to

monkeys don’t do what they are told
that’s why they are monkeys no that’s
a terrible thing to say
they are monkeys because they are monkeys

“not only the present” by Sasha at her desk

Saturday February 16, 2019
9:33pm
5 minutes
From the Constitution of the Iroquois Nation

straddling the teetor totter
of the now and the then
now and again
when is the next
cheeks wet with anticipation
with faith
with fear
okay i tell you
little one
okay i say in the night
when you twist and roll
i hear your becoming
i feel your growing
i am at your mercy
on my knees
on the tiles of the
kitchen floor
your daddy meditating
ten steps away
let’s stay quiet so
he can have this moment
this now so he can
have this

“nature acts.” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Friday February 15, 2019
6:49pm
5 minutes
A quote by Voltaire

The big joke is that
nature will survive
relentless and brave
It’s us who won’t

vulnerable and ignorant
Twins in the hole of
the big cedar
hide-and-go-seeking
hiding
not sure

It’s not the kind
of joke that we laugh at
it’s the kind that stops
us in our tracks
and makes us a little bit
sick when we’re trying to
fall asleep or make love

I find myself
wringing my hands
biting hangnails
scrubbing at the grout
around the tub

“Union dues” by Sasha at her desk

Thursday February 14, 2019
9:53pm
5 minutes
From a tax form

Leftovers from dinner are cooling on the counter when Bill gets home. A half eaten chicken, steamed broccoli and cauliflower, brown rice. He packs things up in containers and puts them in the fridge, snacks on a few morsels of dark meat, works at the caked on rice with a butter knife. Margaret is in the bath upstairs. He can tell because she’s talking to herself and that’s the only place she does it. She hasn’t written in a long time, but when she’s in the bath and talking out loud it means she’ll be back at the book soon, that the characters are moving in her.

“It’s comfy and cozy.” By Sasha on her couch

Wednesday February 13, 2019
11:02pm
5 minutes
From a text

Those wouldn’t be words that I’d use to describe Max… More like gruff… and, and kind. He isn’t the touchy-feely type, right, like, he is a good guy but he keeps people at arm’s length. Might be because he was orphaned when he was young, betcha didn’t know that. Yup, his folks’ died in a train accident and he went to live with his uncle who didn’t have any idea how to raise a child. Poor guy. He’s a dreamer, like, he’s the kind of man that can wander around a city and not care where he’s going. Maybe he’ll end up in a bookstore or a sandwich shop or sitting on a park bench. Max likes days like that. If you ask him how’s he’s doing he’ll always answer the same, have you noticed that? He’ll say, “I’m still here…”

“live life well” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Tuesday February 12, 2019
10:10pm
5 minutes
From a mural

All she wants is to “live life well.” Those are her words. She chooses them carefully, her words, like her handbags, like her cantaloupes. She doesn’t think that she’s done this up until now, not the “well” part at least. She’s done the living and the life. Turning fifty was a big deal for her. She re-assessed in a way that she never had before – not when she went to graduate school, not when she had her son, not when she divorced her first love, not when she lost her second. What does it mean, to “live life well”? For her, it means a few days a week of waking up without an alarm; a walk in the forest with a close friend; eating the five dollar chocolate.

“heart wrenching soaring n magical place.” By Sasha on her couch

Monday February 11, 2019
4:10pm
5 minutes
Kits
Bill Bissett

Apparently you’re not supposed to blow out beeswax candles. You’re supposed to snuff them with a candle-snuffer. I feel like a real rebel when you’re not home and I huff and puff that candle out. You’d be pissed. I tell you to eat more dates, take your multi-vitamin, drink more water. You roll your eyes and say that there are women in impoverished places who don’t even have access to proper nutrition and they birth perfectly healthy babies. I can’t make you do anything. At least I’ve learned that by now. It’s not like we planned any of this. We’d only been dating for three months, in fact, and then you were pregnant and I became obsessed with never becoming my father.

“We look forward to moving you!” By Sasha on her couch

Sunday February 10, 2019
1:11pm
5 minutes
a Morrison’s Moving poster

I added some psychedelic mushrooms to my morning omelette. My sister went to chef school in Paris and learned how to make a real omelette. She taught me. There’s no going back. It’s omelettes almost every morning. Shrooms are only added on Sundays, though. Let’s not get too crazy over here. I also added chevre and fresh chives. I thought about texting Jess to see if she wanted to come over and get high together, but then I remembered the last time we did that she ended up fully clothed in the shower for two hours and the waste of water alone was enough to shut that idea down. Tripping by oneself is not for the faint of heart, though.

“Are you Joaquin or River?” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Saturday February 9, 2019
2:16pm
5 minutes
From a voicemail message

It’s a call to arms
the sound of three thousand
trumpets at dawn
waking the birds even
waking the sky

a war cry and

I’m nothing
in the face of this strength

I’m quaking in my combat boots
shaking in my conviction
or maybe that’s fear

Sand in my eyes
wonder in my belly
This is not what
my father said it
would be

Came home flag draped
and empty my mother
spoke his name only
in whispers until
she draped herself too

saying she can’t lose
another

“Speaking of hosting!” By Sasha in her bed

Friday February 8, 2019
8:46pm
5 minutes
from a Wordplay call out

I seem to be made more
of water than of bones
sinew muscle guts
I seem to be made of
salt water the amount
I am overflowing

My eyes are changing
colour with this
bursting with this
breaking with this
heavy heavy
Will you help me
to carry this weight?

You say that you
can’t bear the water
the sound as you fall asleep
that it’s been too many
nights in a row of this
filling filling flowing filling

I am helpless in the hands
of the drops falling down
filling falling flowing
it’s the law of this week
this week only I say
this week it’s like this

“How about just one email a week or month?” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Thursday February 7, 2019
7:42am
5 minutes
from swimoutlet.com

I don’t want to cramp your style, that’s for sure. But… You know me. I’m going to worry! I’m sorry it’s true, but it is. What about a text everyday, we don’t even have to decide on the time or anything, just when you see fit, sometime between when you wake up and when you go to bed? No? Too much? What about an email, then… You’ll obviously be checking your email… Right? What about one email every other day? Come on! Work with me here! I’m your mother! What do you – … You’re seventeen, Chloe. You’re seventeen. What was I thinking letting you – … An email a week. An email a week… An email a week? No. What will I do those whole six other days?! How will I sleep?!

“bar brew belong” by Sasha at her desk

Wednesday February 6, 2019
9:53pm
5 minutes
From Charqui’s flyer

Wanna meet at the new place, that hidden burger spot that opened up behind the cafe? I’d like to buy you onion rings and french fries and a cheeseburger or a bacon burger or I guess whatever you’re in the mood for. What I’m saying is… I’m paying. I mean, I’m treating. I want to get you a milkshake! Shit. This isn’t coming out right… I’m sorry. I… I was wondering if you’d like me meet me at the burger place? I’d like to take you out for a burger, and whatever drink or side you fancy.

“such a confusing tableau.” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Tuesday February 5, 2019
8:11am
5 minutes
How To Change Your Mind
Michael Pollan
readying myself for this has become
unclenching my jaw
resting
loving deeply and truthfully
being clear about when it’s
yes
and when it’s
no
my days are a journal entry
a devotion
my mind is losing her sharpness
her edge
my heart is wider than ever
i wonder how you’ll love me
now that i’m new
how the sisters i drunk and
danced with will bear the change
i read in my nest
in the bed where she landed
page after page
gorging on preparation
i drink more water
eat more dates
look for soft things
find soft places in myself
that i wasn’t sure would arrive
they have
i welcome them
oh sweetness
stillness
opening

“her sarcastic curl of a smile” By Sasha at her desk

Monday February 4, 2019
2:28pm
5 minutes
Finders Keepers
Stephen King

Sorry it’s taken me so long to write back, D. It’s not that I haven’t been thinking of you, it’s that whenever I sat down at the computer to respond I couldn’t bring myself to actually hit send. I’ve deleted and re-written so many versions of this that I’ve lost count. Really all that I can say at this time is I’m not ready to talk. Grief is a strange beast, sometimes sarcastic, sometimes snarling, sometimes tender, and I’m doing my best to roll with it all honestly, and honesty for me right now looks like – I still need space. I trust that you’ll be able to understand, and that you’ll stop reaching out. When your name appears in my Inbox it’s like you’re knocking at my door, and I can’t have you knocking at my door right now, D.

“I just want a little privacy is all.” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Sunday February 3, 2019
8:11am
5 minutes
The Lovely Bones
Alice Sebold

You look at my face like you’re learning
every freckle every pore every hair by heart
and today I bury in the nape of your neck
unsure about the scrutiny
about the fullness of the love

I mash sweet potatoes and you hold
my belly through T-shirt and apron
growing bigger everyday
You wash dishes and we sing to
our daughter with us and also not
here and also there

It’s cold today and flurries chase
each other’s tails by the chickadees
on the balcony
It’s warm in here with the oven on
with the one-bedroom closeness of
this new season

“the two men ceased exchanging words” by Sasha on her couch

Saturday February 2, 2019
2:02pm
5 minutes
Marlarky
Anakana Schofield

I don’t talk to him anymore and I’ve found peace with that. It took time. I’m patient. I’ve learned how to be patient. I don’t talk to him because what’ the point. It doesn’t matter that he’s my brother. The only thing we have in common is blood, and even that’s debatable. We have the same mother, but I’ve always had a theory that his curly hair and jawline aren’t Dad’s, they aren’t anywhere, they are from – … Nevermind. I digress. I haven’t spoken to Tom since Christmas 2003. Mom insisted that Cheryl and I bring the kids to Saratoga Springs and eventually I caved. Cheryl was ambivalent, to say the least. We got there and had a nice meal. Everyone was getting along. Stella was starting to talk and Mom was losing it over how cute she was. Then there’s a knock at the door and my stomach felt like it was bottoming out. I knew it was him. Mom looked all pretend surprised and, “Who could that be?!” and of course it was Tom.

“unapologetic about her love of narcotics.” By Sasha at her desk

Friday February 1, 2019
9:32pm
5 minutes
Orange Is The New Black
Piper Kerman

Kiki loves narcotics like Hillary loves vodka like Jess loves psychedelics. I’m not sure about any of it. That makes me the weird one? Jess says that she needs to do psychedelics at least monthly to feel like herself. I wonder what she’d feel like if she didn’t. I wonder who she’d be then. Hillary carries around her booze in an Evian bottle in her purse. Sips it on breaks at work, in a taxi, at the gym. No one knows. No one cares. Breath mint after and she’s good to go. At least that’s what she says. Kiki. I’m not worried about Kiki but I kind of am.

“never showed me where the wreck lay.” By Sasha at her desk

Thursday January 31, 2019
1:36pm
5 minutes
Foe
J.M. Coetzee

Hunting for treasure like yeah yeah yeah I’m bored okay I’m bored. Jimmy made mistakes all the time and no one yelled at him must of been because he had those baby blues. I get a stiff leg every now and again and I’m not so quick to get up I need a minute nothing wrong with slowing down a little. I’m bored by Thursday and by Saturday I can’t believe that there’s still another day left in the week. Didn’t used to be that way I was a way cooler guy when I was younger enjoying the moment and all of that jazz. You see enough people lose everything get laid off get screwed over and you start to go what’s the point right what’s really the point.

“The coach was bullshit.” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Wednesday January 30, 2019
11:56pm
5 minutes
Created By
Richard Christian Matheson

It wasn’t my fault. Coach was bullshit. I tried telling Stevie and Jay from the get-go that Coach was a turd, didn’t know what she was talking about, didn’t know her ass from the ball… Nobody listened to me! We had a good reputation, man, I mean, we weren’t seven time champions but we gave Crescent Hill a run for their money every year! When Coach Peterson retired I knew we were effed. I’d seen Coach Jenkins sniffing around the court, trying to butter up the team, trying to use her jokes to make everyone like her. I’m not gonna fall for that shit!

“I’ve got questions.” By Sasha in her bed

Tuesday January 29, 2019
10:36pm
5 minutes
From a text

I’ve got questions and most of them
have to do with how many times this
will break my heart

Don’t mean to lean heavy on a tired
metaphor we are all tired aren’t we
isn’t that what everyone says when
asked how they are
Tired?

Keep circling back to this again
and again the monotony but also the
surprise every time
and the break is still a break
is still a break

How many times can the same thing
hurt in new ways but not different ways
one of those albums where all the songs
sound like a variation on the single
on the title track

My title track is this tonight
and the other nights that have ended
as this one will

“As the cab works its way” by Sasha at her desk

Monday January 27, 2019
4:01pm
5 minutes
Hello, Goodbye
Brady Emerson

As the cab works it’s way around the corner, I press my face up to the glass. Mama will make me clean it with vinegar and newspaper. She always knows when it’s me and when it’s Bailey. The dog doesn’t have to clean up after himself, but he gets put in the laundry room until he whines enough that Mama feels bad. Daddy packed a larger suitcase than usual so I asked him how long he’d be gone for this time. “Not sure, honeybunch,” he said, sad like the day Grampa Jones died. How he could not be sure, I don’t understand but I shouldn’t have to given that I’m only just starting Grade Four. Mama knows that Daddy might be gone until the snow comes, so she hugs Bailey in bed for a long time and I have peanut butter and jelly for dinner.

“The road ends at a washout” by Sasha in the bathtub

Sunday January 27, 2019
9:18pm
5 minutes
Nomads
Poe Ballentine

Dear P.,

I move to Alaska because I want to live at the end of it all, where the road meets the horizon, where the sun feels like a star and it doesn’t rain as much as it does here. I’m twenty seven and I don’t know my ass from my mouth, but at least I’m not afraid like everyone else is, afraid to leave home. “Home” is a word that feels strange in my mouth, foreign, like “Barcelona” or “beloved”.

I’m sorry that I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye. I know that was a long time ago, but I never stopped thinking about you. Riding bikes around the track at St. Mike’s, shooting the shit, pretending we were big shots. Alaska takes a part of your heart when you’re there for long enough. A part of my heart that’s shaped like you. P. I’m better now than I was then, in almost every way.

“I was acting like a” by Sasha at her desk

Saturday January 26, 2019
7:23am
5 minutes
The Only One She Told
J.E. McCafferty

I was raised on goodness and beeswax crayons
Imagination prized and emotional maturity celebrated
and Self Knowing the greatest gift the greatest way
I was raised on expression and trust
hope and faith and that we can hold it all
we can know it all we can be it all we can do it all

I was a lucky pigeon
I have a privilege I sometimes I feel I
need to apologize for
Blue eyes means yes
Smile wide means yes
Not really but maybe sometimes

At least if you do your best
you’ll know
you’ll know that you did your best
and usually that’s good enough

HA

lucky pigeon

“They say looks aren’t everything,” by Sasha on the 33

Friday January 25, 2019
5:31pm
5 minutes
What to Look for in a Horse
Brett Elizabeth Jenkins

They say that looks aren’t everything but it’s easier
to get a job if you’re good looking it’s easier to find
a mate if you’re good looking the world is easier if you
are good looking so “they” don’t know shit
There’s nothing wrong with it survival of the fittest
or whatever it’s always how it’s been beauty is a commodity
and a wealth greater than wealth at least if you’re good looking
you are going to have people that love you
I’m not bitter I mean people say I’m a pretty handsome guy and
I’ve a girlfriend I’ve had one girlfriend I’ve asked a girl out
I’ve gone on a date or two

“law of human psychology” by Sasha at her coffee table

Thursday January 24, 2019
10:01pm
5 minutes
A quote by William Pickens

“Shit, it’s uh, it’s um… It’s – …”

Mika forgets her new phone number. She’d started to rattle off her old one and then stopped part way through. “I had to change my number because… You don’t need to know that, um – …”

After twelve years of the same ten digits it takes a while to update. Mika thinks about the brain and plasticity and how memory works.

She sees a flash of Kyle sledding. She blinks. She sees Izzy there, too, eating snow off to the side.

“Miss?”

Mika digs out her notebook. She knows she wrote her new number down in there.

“my Swahili instructor” by Sasha at her desk

Wednesday January 23, 2019
1:41pm
5 minutes
Archipelagoes
Rochelle Smith

All the other women in this class are at least fifteen years older than I am. All of them are recently divorced. All of them. There are twelve of us. I won’t make assumptions about divorce rates rising, but wow oh wow, it is a bit… alarming. There must be something about taking up a new language in a popular book or something. I’m going to Tanzania so I really need to get this, it isn’t a whim or a therapy tactic or something. I like Rebecca best. Out of all the Divorcees. She’s down to earth and talks about stuff other than child support and Brene Brown.

“What Jesus was doing” by Sasha on her couch

Tuesday January 22, 2019
6:52am
5 minutes
Love Thy Neighbour
Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove

Sit still. Don’t fidget. Don’t pick your nose. Sit still. Sit stiller. Pay attention. Sister Judith is falling asleep. Don’t laugh. Don’t giggle. Don’t kick the pew in front. Jesus is watching. Mother is watching. Don’t elbow Russell. Don’t look at Russell. Russell is picking his nose. Ew, Russell! Sit still. Sit still. Hands to yourself. The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit. Stand up. Sing. Don’t sing too loud. Mother is watching.

“I imagine him alive.” By Sasha at her desk

Monday January 21, 2019
1:55pm
5 minutes
Stories We Keep To Ourselves
Bill Glose

He’s running along the beach
He doesn’t leave footprints in the sand
He floats above like the sand flies
Leaving no trace
Making no impression

I’m watching him from a nearby
piece of driftwood
Back and forth he goes
One end becoming the other
Horizon becoming sky

He doesn’t see me there
Lost in the movement of his muscles
Found in the meditation of waves
Lost in the between-world wonder
Found in the bits of seaweed and shell

I call out to him
He doesn’t hear me
The ocean thundering before us
Dusk wraps around our shoulders
Takes us back to the center
Takes us back in time

“making dinner for my family” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Sunday January 20, 2019
9:43pm
5 minutes
The Other, Invented Man
Matthew Vollmer

I used to think that I’d be
keeping long hours in dank rehearsal halls
Poorly heated
Poorly lit
Weaving stories out of breath
blood bones
breaking beauty like bread

I used to think that success
was measured in letters
in selling out a run
in someone saying
“I saw myself on that stage
in that stranger”
“I know myself better now”

Now the sacred carrot
celery and onion
meets lentils and then broth
I spend Sundays in the kitchen
listening to Emmylou Harris and
This American Life
I lie down when I’m tired
and sing to my belly until
I drift off to sleep

Now I think that success
is having a fridge full of goodness
ready for the week
and that the stories we weave
at the table over steaming oats
the story of right now
is the greatest win of all

“poorly aimed prayers” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Saturday January 19, 2019
8:28pm
5 minutes
On Why I Must Decline To Receive The Prayers You Say You Are Constantly Sending
Tony Hoagland

I light candles nightly now
What am I saving the special for
I earn the tonic of beeswax
and glow the elements close
here as I stoke the growth
as I reach inwards and around
and down and up
Linking hands with the women
who have come before
the women who have bled
have birthed have braved
I lean towards the light and
aim my prayers seven generations
back seven generations
forward towards the centre of
the heart the centre of the earth
I blow out the candles before
brushing my teeth and turning in
the smoke washing my face
washing my day washing my hands
the sacred so close
the sacred everywhere
cusp of the full moon
swelling

“he fell like the rain,” by Sasha in the bath

Friday January 18, 2019
9:04pm
5 minutes
In The Beautiful Rain
Tony Hoagland

She lifted her hand to her face
her hand the mirror that she trusted more
her face the face that she’d always known
She traced her nostrils and opened her mouth

He fell like the rain in the morning
and at night he gathered the fire to
close his eyes and trust the dark
Her sleep breath lifting him away

The laundry is on the couch and
needs to be folded
socks and T-shirts mixing cake
mixing bodies and story and dust

Someone will do it tomorrow
One of them whoever has time
and is feeling generous to the other
or to themselves

The recycling needs to be sorted
and taken out to the bins in the alleyway
where men with grocery carts pick through
all the after-thoughts all the forgetting

Hoping for a treasure

“I met Luke after my marriage ended.” By Sasha on her couch

Thursday January 17, 2019
10:17pm
5 minutes
The Ghost of a Boy
Piper Vignette

I didn’t mean to meet Luke. I was minding my own business. I was keeping my head down. Ever since I left Allison, to distract myself from the crippling guilt and regret, I’d become obsessed with Ayurveda. I read every book I could get my hands on. I mentored with an Ayurvedic doctor. I cooked lentils, rice, cauliflower. I cut out onions and garlic. I was in the co-op weighing red lentils for dahl and there he was – wearing wire-rimed glasses and a red sweater with worn elbows. He looked like he’d just woken up. He was staring at me.

“What are you gonna do with those?” He asked, a sparkle in his eyes.

“Dahl.” I said. I wasn’t interested in a flirty bulk food section exchange. I hadn’t flirted with a man since graduate school.

“like food processors” by Sasha at her desk

Wednesday January 16, 2019
6:31pm
5 minutes
On Becoming A Cat
Emily Mitchell

I don’t know what to say when I see you
so I don’t say anything I don’t play that
game anymore the one that all the pleasers
before me pressed into my cells a cookie cutter
a yearning for love

I don’t want to say anything to you
when I see you so I don’t say anything
I feel my heart beating and the music
doesn’t distract and you must carry the
weight of your selfishness
that is your bag of rocks to shoulder

I don’t care about rudeness or pleasantries
in this space I don’t care about hurting
I care about honesty and being true to
myself and my belief that even a hello
can be a lie

“the host raised his glass” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Tuesday January 15, 2019
8:41am
5 minutes
Notes on Surrender
Krista Bremer

Adam raised his glass and I thought, ‘I don’t know this man.’

I do know this man. He’s my husband of thirteen years, but in these moments, in some moments, he’s a stranger.

That’s the weird part. No matter how well you think you know someone, there are still moments when –

“Thank you all for being here. I used to try to imagine what forty would feel like, what it would look like – ”

Bert chortles.

” – … I am so fortunate to be blessed by a beautiful family,” Adam looked at me, I smiled. “Mimi, you have done it again, this meal is stunning. Thank you.” People clap. Henrietta rubs my back. I felt like I was floating above these sixteen people, gathered in our dining room, at the table I set, finishing the meal that I chose, sipping wine that I bought.

“We cross dirt roads” by Sasha on her couch

Monday January 14, 2019
11:06pm
5 minutes
A Poem for Barack Obama’s Presidential Inauguration
Elizabeth Alexander

A crow flies overhead
calling to her love
calling to her self
She is her own love

Wings spread wide she
soars towards the sun
an ascension
a wild flight
This flight of love

It’s dusk now
She’s reached where
she’s going
She lands
She settles
Sweet she calls
Sweet one she calls

On a dirt road below
A girl walks
Maybe five or six
She’s alone
She spots the crow
She smiles
She knows that crows
are as smart as her
but in different ways

Sweet one she calls

“endure burning” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Sunday January 13, 2019
5:42pm
5 minutes
A quote by Viktor Frankl

I wonder what you’ve told them about me
about how I walk on my tip toes in the morning
not to wake you
about how I braid the tassels on my red scarf
I wonder what you’ve told them about my burning
my breaking my owning my betrayal
I wonder if they know what my face looks like
when I’m sleeping
The wild wild west they say
The Wild West
A story that we all know the ending to
My devotion will break me
I’m still alive
I’m still here
I’m still

I wonder what you’ve told them about me
and the sound of my whistle my voice when I’m singing
Torn up inside the will to survive the will to
Will I ever be able to forge through winter
Will I ever be able to stop laughing

“how are you feeling?” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Saturday January 12, 2019
10:42pm
5 minutes
From a text

A: How are you feeling?
B: Today. Shitty.
A: How shitty? What kind of shitty?
B: I saw someone who is too afraid to face me, who can’t meet me how I need to be met, and I was tired and sad and I saw someone, and it was –
A: Take a deep breath?
B: I’m fine. I’m breathing fine.
A: Okay…

B: How are you?
A: I’m good. I’m great!
B: That’s nice.
A: When you’re shitty, I can still be great. It’s not a competition.
B: I know. I’m glad you’re great.
A: Why can’t you just be happy for me?
B: I am!

A: Dad said that Ming is off dairy so we can’t do rice pudding on Sunday.
B: Good for Ming.
A: Ha!
B: She always feels sick. It’s good she’s doing some investigating. I’ll bring something else. I’m sick of rice pudding anyway.
A: But we always have rice pudding for dessert –
B: Yeah, and sometimes things have to change. Sometimes change is healthy.

“grateful to be where we are now.” By Sasha at her desk

Friday January 11, 2019
5:03pm
5 minutes
From a Christmas card

You’re grateful I’m here. I can see it in the release of the line on your forehead, an inch above your eyebrows. It’s been disappearing slowly, and now it’s gone. Three days in to my visit. We haven’t even had sex. I have my period. We’ve kissed a lot. Made tuna sandwiches. Watched Seinfeld.

“Why don’t you move here,” you say, casually folding laundry on your bed. I’m knitting a sweater for Cassidy. James Taylor plays on Spotify.

“You know I can’t.” I look up.

You are grateful I’m here. You usually come to me because it’s hard to get away. My kids. The cat. It’s easy for you to travel. You have less baggage.

“You are my real mother, aren’t you?” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Thursday January 10, 2019
7:04am
5 minutes
Life After Life
Kate Atkinson

I knew it was coming. It was like when my grandmother used to know that it was going to rain. Her bones would ache. I woke feeling agitated, restless, cold. Nelly had been out late with Rebecca, and she slept later than she usually does. Even for Sunday. I made waffles and turkey bacon. I made a second pot of tea. She came downstairs rubbing her eyes, bun askew on top of her head.

“Morning,” she yawned, but there was a coolness.

“Honey… – ” I looked at her and she held my gaze.

“Rebecca said that Barb said that you have something to tell me?”

Fuck Barb. I can’t believe I used to trust that woman. Fuck.

I knew it was coming but then when it does it still feels like a sledgehammer, like a slicing, like open-heart surgery.

“skin hanging from a chicken soup bone.” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Wednesday January 9, 2019
4:51pm
5 minutes
Tuesdays With Morrie
Mitch Albom

I make chicken soup with the bones of the seasons before
Frozen in Ziploc bag
Stacked with
forgotten bananas
pumpkin seeds
pine nuts
containers of squash soup

I make soup for the parents of new babies
and bodies that are tired and grieving
Bodies that are growing
Bodies that are strong
I make soup for my own lonely heart
and the lonely hearts peppered here and away

There’s been a lot of soup this winter
and pretending that candles are wood stoves
There’s been a lot

“A master-beggar art thou.” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Tuesday January 8, 2019
10:04pm
5 minutes
Kim
Rudyard Kipling

I make you cinnamon buns. I let the dough double rise and listen to Robert Plant and Alison Krauss. I make the filling (butter, cinnamon, sugar, salt). I make the cream cheese frosting. I whisper that you’re my little darling, and these buns are my little darlings, and in the quiet of this Saturday night, the world is my little darling. I’ll bring you the buns tomorrow morning, after I bake them, while they are still warm. You’ll be surprised to see me, but I’ll be holding a tray of the best damn thing you’ve ever smelled so you won’t be able to send me away, to refuse me, to ask me to go. You’ll invite me in. Coffee will already be brewing on the counter, in your red french press.

“there were also many miracles then.” By Sasha at her desk

Monday January 7, 2019
7:02pm
5 minutes
The Brothers Karamazov
Fyodor Dostoevsky

There were more miracles then. That probably dates me… I know there are still miracles, but it seems like there used to be more. Maybe it’s because the sky was bigger. There weren’t so many big buildings blocking the blue. There were more miracles, like, when I was a little girl. Big ones and small ones. Acts of grace and God, acts of kindness, surprising twists and all the rest. With the buildings came less birds because the birds fly into the buildings, the buildings are in their flight path. No one thought about the birds when they built those buildings. That’s why I told your grandfather that we had to move North. We had to get away from those buildings.

“There is no rule that is true under the circumstances” by Sasha on her couch

Sunday January 6, 2019
8:42am
5 minutes
Synchronicity
C.G. Jung

We ask ourselves why and how and when and then hold hands and call Red Rover. We swim in the same ocean we pollute and forget the connection between the food we eat and the rising temperatures. We plug our ears when it doesn’t concern us and when it does we scream to the sky and beg for more. Under the circumstances, we are perched on the edge of the precipice, stratus clouds no longer reaching a hand down to help. It rains and rains. The rich get richer. Somebody says that it’s too late and in the heartbeat of my unborn daughter I feel the drum of hope. Hope no longer blind faith or unsubstantiated optimism, but hope like a conversation, like the space between then and now and then.

“He was young and handsome” by Sasha on her couch

Saturday January 5, 2019
9:02am
5 minutes
The Elephant Vanishes
Haruki Murakami

It’s your birthday today
You’re young and handsome
bird-like and dying
empty and full
at the same time
“This too”
I whisper
“This too”
I wail

I saw the most wondrous thing
was there for the birth
of a star child on the first
day of the new year
this year of mystery
babies
loss
learning
breath

I don’t know if I’ll
see you again in the flesh
in the bone
bird-body
sun-shower

It’s your birthday today
the same week cancer took
both A. and D.
the same week a star child
was born
the same week
the same life
a birthday
a deathday
a new day
a new day