Monday June 19, 2017
12:03am
5 minutes
Overheard on West Broadway
On the Saturday before Grade Nine was to start, in a new school, an hour and a half commute from my one house and an hour and forty three minute commute from my other house, I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror (at the former house). Something. Does. Not. Look. Right. My left eye is… swelling. Perhaps a less astute person would not notice anything (at least at this point), but I, I am beyond astute. I might as well have a magnifying glass.
“That’s what I was thinking” by Julia at her desk
Monday June 19, 2017
12:35am
5 minutes
overheard on West Broadway
Some days add up to zero
the hole of the afternoon
the cave of mid morning
post-its have been scribbled on
and posted but the glue is wrong
and everything flutters to
the ground eventually
Tomorrow’s list has been started
wake up is the hard thing
every other item can be done
if there is enough time
Some days add up to something o’clock
and not enough sleep
too many hours spent wondering how
to believe in scotch tape
and purple marker
instead of the looming possibility
of avoiding it all
“Good girls wore miniskirts but not hot pants” by Sasha at her desk
Sunday June 18, 2017
12:007am
5 minutes
They Used To Call Me Snow White…But I Drifted
Regina Barreca
Good girls wear miniskirts and have their hair teased, that was made clear. We were to smoke and choke and snort and suck and smile smile smile. This isn’t a poem, so don’t worry about it. We were welcomed with a weigh-in and then told that if we gained the normal fifteen whatevers we would be out out out on our bodacious asses. Cassandra even said that she knew a girl who knew a girl who did gain the whatevers and they actually did kick her out and she didn’t get her deposit back or anything.
“the usual flood of dark worries” by Sasha at her kitchen table
Saturday June 17, 2017
10:52pm
5 minutes
The Tools
Phil Stutz and Barry Michels
What’s the point, Milo thinks as he squints at his computer screen. The usual flood of dark worries is worse today because Justin quit and now he doesn’t even have eye candy. He wonders if the dimensions of his cubicle add to his feelings of claustrophobia. He wonders if he actually called his family back in Denver if the week might start a little brighter. All the numbers on the screen start to blur. Um, Milo thinks. He closes his eyes.
“Good girls wore miniskirts but not hot pants” By Julia at her desk
Sunday June 18, 2017
9:56pm
5 minutes
They Used To Call Me Snow White…But I Drifted
Regina Barreca
I wish we didn’t have to fight so hard for our bodies. How can one opinion be the ignition behind so much devestation. All these lies we told ourselves because of the lies we heard first from someone else’s head. It must have been a group. There must have been a threat lobbied at enough of them to cause a movement. Why hold some bodies back if nothing is at risk? But what was at risk? What could it have possibly been to mean so much? What is the small bone we must find before breaking all of ours instead?
“the usual flood of dark worries” by Julia on C’s couch
Saturday June 17, 2017
9:57pm
5 minutes
The Tools
Phil Stutz and Barry Michels
I find myself in the afternoon
but I lose myself every morning
it’s a hunger I don’t feed much
because it will eat whatever it can
find whether I like it or not
and why do extra work
the alarm was set for early o’clock
and ignored
the day sneaks past me like
it’s trying to keep something
from me
I assume it’s time
I am sure it’s grace
in the bathroom I can
be alone with my family of
dark worries
I can close the door
waste the water
light a candle
remain still
I find myself among the faces
in the shower tiles that have all
begun to look like me
“Popeye was right!” By Sasha at her desk
Friday June 16, 2017
10:46pm
5 minutes
La Dolce Vegan
Sarah Kramer
When your mother brings home Steve, the third potential stepfather, you are immediately sceptical of his black goatee and reddish, greying hair. You know that that is not how nature works. Steve is the “assistant manager” (oh-kay) at the mechanic on the corner of First and MacDonald. His brother is the owner. His brother, according to Michelle St. Bernard, is almost a millionaire. Something about good investments, or the stock market, or Atlantic City. You and Tina kick each other under the table as your mother giggles at Steve’s jokes. You get a few of them, and want to laugh because they are not half bad, but you don’t. Out of solidarity with Tina. Out of mourning for your father. Steve says something about the spinach and rice pilaf and your mother says something about Popeye. Tina’s eyes light up.
