“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.

“Christian Science Reading Room” by Sasha in her bed


Wednesday August 23, 2017
11:46pm
5 minutes
From a storefront on West Broadway

Words are my best lover
knowing when to go slow and move slick
Whisper whisper the sweet fuck
I cradle my notebook like your elbow
the salty spot where your hip is
my lip is I snuggle my pen and
don’t sweat the stain

Words know me and grow me and stretch
the truth of the t-r-u-t-h
of the b-o-d-y
b can oh-nly contain oh oh oh

d is the darkness
is the depth
is the deep

why y y why
a crest
a crescendo
Words, my tonic, my prince, my
oh my

“Let’s do choices” by Sasha at her desk


Tuesday July 25, 2017
11:01pm
5 minutes
The Home Depot ad

If I bought you a popsicle, I’d buy you a rocket. I’d hold it for you, so that as you ate it in the thick heat, none would drip onto your shirt. It’s white. That’s the real gift. I wouldn’t mind if my hands got sticky. I might not even wash them. I might save the stick until the night, when I’d spend a bit of time with them before crawling into bed. I’d have to wash my sheets, but it would be worth it.

“they did not” by Sasha on her porch


Sunday, August 28, 2016
10:12pm
5 minutes
From a piece of feedback

They did not tell us that we would fight like dogs
and fuck like them too especially when the heat broke
They did not tell us that there would be days when
everything would feel broken
They did not say,
“Kindness is the most important thing, followed
closely by respect, by humour, by knowing when to
let it go and when to raise the torch.”
They did not say that there would be times when
we would be strangers sleeping side by side.
They did not tell us that we would fall deeper
in love with each fight, each fuck, each break,
each repair, each song, each pizza, each jump
underwater.

“out in the burbs” by Sasha at Lit Espresso Bar


Saturday July 30, 2016 at Lit on Ronces
3:12pm
5 minutes
Overheard at Lit on Roncesvalles

James wants to move out to the burbs once he’s done his internship. He keeps talking about the “size of the lots”… “There’s nothing for us here, Carly,” he keeps saying and I don’t know what he means and I absolutely do not agree. There’s lots for us. Lots for all of us, not just me and him. I’m not getting cold feet or anything, but I don’t really feel excited when he talks like that – like he has a plan that I’m not privy to, like he thinks he’s the boss of our future. I actually asked him last night, “Do you want a pool, James?! Do you want a damn hot tub?” And he laughed because he thought that maybe I was joking or something.

“behind your kiss” by Sasha on the couch


Wednesday July 6, 2016
10:45pm
5 minutes
When I touch you; Peter Ilyanov
Diana Brebner


Me and you create a secret language of only vowels and speak it when we’re in public. Only we know what we’re saying. There’s power in that. It’s no surprise that I fall in love with you over “o” and “a”, the soft shape of pursed lips, a kiss somewhere behind there.

Some people make fun of us, we hear them cackling or whispering.

“Mangiamo Italiano!” by Sasha on a bench at UBC


Tuesday June 14, 2016
3:47pm
5 minutes
The front page of the Westender

His breath is sharp parmesan cheese, shaved with a pocket knife.
His back is the topography of vineyards, muscles of grapes and sweat of dew.
His words are wise cirrus clouds almost touching heaven.
When we walk together our strides fall into one stride, two strides, three strides, a harmony of flavour and footsteps.
When we swim, he’s stronger so he’s faster. I watch the ripple of the water where his arms break the surface, break the break, broken in more than two.
When we sleep, I fall asleep first and I feel his eyes, Jupiter on the pillow here, scavenging for secrets that haven’t been grated yet, waiting for the moment to eclipse.

“KEEP REFRIGERATED” by Sasha at her counter


Saturday February 27, 2016
10:56am
5 minutes
From the tetra pack of arugula

“You can keep your shrubs and your sourdough starter and your kombucha mother!” He says, throwing his cup at me. Luckily it’s tin and so it just sort of bounced on the floor a few times. I laughed. He didn’t.

I love Chris, but like, he isn’t the one. I always knew that. He was a good bang and had a great beard and he knew how to give amazing foot rubs and make great spaghetti sauce.

I don’t think I’ll get on Internet dating or anything. I’m going to get really into infusing… Vodka, vanilla… You name it, I’ll infuse it.

“How cool would this be?” By Sasha at her kitchen table


Friday February 26, 2016
10:56am
5 minutes
Overheard on Yew St.

How cool would it be if we knit identical toques and used the same wool and everything and how cool would it be if we never really took them off, only to shower and stuff?

We would absolutely have to go up to where the snow is to roll in it cuz what’s the point of toques if we aren’t in snow? The twinkle lights would be twinkling and we would bring a thermos of tea and a bar of dark chocolate and our heads would be warm and our fingers would be cold but we’d kiss under the stars and we’d feel more alive than ever.

“imagining our future.” By Sasha at the UBC Learning Exchange


Wednesday February 10, 2016
7:08pm
5 minutes
CBC.ca/books

I imagine our future as orchids
as shooting stars
as bits of sand when
under a microscope
the whole universe

I imagine our future
can’t help myself
I’m a dream junkie
arm bruised with pockmarks of
maybe and when

I imagine our future ceilings
catching wishes in open laughter mouths
I imagine our future claw foot tub
warm water swirling down the memory drain
I imagine our future babies
All cheeks and nerve

“I FIND MYSELF SO INTERESTING” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Saturday, January 2, 2016
6:52pm
5 minutes
Mickey
Chelsea Martin


When I find myself I’m sitting with my back up against an old Arbutus tree, the bark peeling away to reveal bright gold skin. I am surprised by how old I look, not in the sense of stained teeth from too much tea or grey hairs salting the pepper, but in the way that my mother might notice all that I’ve gone through in the months she hasn’t seen me. “Look at those lines around your eyes,” she says. “Your life. Right there.”

I find myself exceptionally interesting. We all think we just might be the most complex, nuanced, spicy creature in the herd. I sit down beside myself and don’t say anything. I take my hand and look at the palm – so known, so unknown.

“But it’s long, you have to go way down” by Sasha on the top floor at Bowmore


Saturday, December 26, 2015
1:52am
5 minutes
overheard at YVR

I am not the martyr you’re looking for
m for the mother that shamed you into thinking you could never be enough
a for the assumption that all women have a daddy issue
r for the restful quiet after the storm has passed
t for the time you take to love me like a snail inching his way towards water
y for the years we’ve done this over and over always finding the patience a mirage in the desert stretch
r for the reason why we show up again and again even when we don’t want to the quiet voice that lives in the root of the heart knows

“participate in all activities” by Sasha at Platform Seven Coffee


Wednesday November 25, 2015 at Platform Seven Coffee
3:10pm
5 minutes
from http://www.playwrights.ca

Lying on the hood of Jeff’s car, the metal is hot against Sara’s back. She’s wearing the sundress she borrowed from Mel, with the cut-out mid back and the tiny birds. It’s their Sunday ritual, one that Jeff proposed before Sara stopped smoking week and before they both read Joan Didion. A plane takes off and they both close their eyes. Jeff counts to seven out, shouting. When they open their eyes, the plane is right above them. Sara grabs Jeff’s hands and suddenly the fact that he hasn’t eaten her out in seven months and that there are three days worth of dishes in the sink when they get home and that her Mom found another lump in her breast… None of it matters.

“that time of innocence” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Tuesday November 24, 2015
11:02pm
5 minutes
from a poem by bell hooks

it was that time of gold
the innocence of maple butter
slathered on cheeks kissed by the wind
a typhoid of hormones
your fingertips a garter snake in
the zucchini flowers

it was that time of innocence
too much lavender incense from
the dollar store
chipped nail polish tea leaves
empty fortune cookies celebrated
leaving more room for our dreams

“methodological, theoretical, practical” by Sasha at UBC


Thursday November 19, 2015
5:13pm
5 minutes
From the back of a theatre theory book

With a moustache of icing sugar, when Caleb talks puffs of white billow onto the front of his shirt. Doughnuts are his religion, his one true desire. When Caleb wants something, he’s incredibly skilled at berating you until you cave, like an avalanche, even though you think of yourself as stubborn. You never knew stubborn until you knew Caleb. You answered an ad in the newspaper. “Looking for a care worker for a strong-willed teenager with developmental disabilities. Experience required.” You didn’t have experience, really, but you knew that you could do it, what with Dev, your younger brother. Your mother wrote your reference, but Cynthia didn’t need to know. On your first day, Caleb told you that he loved you. Cynthia thought that was a good sign. You weren’t sure, at first, but now, seven months later, you agree. Hindsight.

“coconut oil and coconut sugar” by Julia on the 505 going west


Sunday May 31, 2015
10:47pm
5 minutes
from http://www.simplyquinoa.com/vegan-coconut-oil-chocolate-chip-cookies/

You can’t make fire with rain
(her)
STOP with the analogies
(him)
Just let me LIVE
(her)
I am trying so hard, believe me
(him)
Yeah, you’re not a martyr at all
(her)
You make me seem so horrible
So fucking horrible
(him)
I don’t know who this person you see is, but I swear it’s not me
(him again)
It takes horrible to know horrible
(her)
What?
Why would you say that?
(him)
I don’t know
Maybe you resist being horrible
because you are horrible
(her)
I didn’t mean that
Please don’t leave
(her again)
PLEASE
(her)

“I feel like a skid” by Sasha at Moksha Yoga Vancouver


Saturday May 9, 2015
3:42pm
5 minutes
Overheard at Kits beach

I’ll follow you, North Star.
I’ll follow you all the way down South and up to the icy Arctic and back across to the mountains and the deserts.
I’ll be there to guide you, North Star, when you’re tired of lighting everyone else’s way.
I’ll make you blackberry smoothies with coconut and hemp seeds – you’ll need that plant based protein, North Star.
If you feel like drifting, don’t feel like you must be chained to the North – sail south, ancient one! Sail sideways and in zigzags! I’ll keep your spot warm.
I’ll dry your thunderstorm tears, North Star, when you’re ravaged by grief, when you lose another member of the Milky Way. I’ll cradle you in my arms until you fall asleep, salty-cheeked and eyes swollen.
I’ll run alongside you when you learn to ride a bike, speed demon. I’ll cheer you on and I’ll put bandaids on your knees when you skin them.