“therefore determined to find fault with her” by Julia at her desk

Friday May 31, 2019
2:10pm
5 minutes
St. Urbain’s Horseman
Mordecai Rcihler

You could say she was impatient.
you wouldn’t be saying anything new, but you could say it.
She has likely, herself, already pointed this fact out.
Not to get ahead of the discovery of flaws,
but to practice self-awareness.
You might have opinions about her impatience, or her basket,
but she has not asked to hear them.
Questions, however, she will field:

What is in the basket?
When did you first notice your impatience?
Did someone make you wait when it was really quite urgent?
What is your favourite season?

She will start with the easiest ones and work her way back:

Favourite season is spring. You did not ask why. Now you may
muse on that and wait to ask a separate question in another round.
I first noticed my impatience when the sky was falling and
nobody seemed to have any urgency about it until it was too late.
Someone the day the sky was falling did not make me wait but
was too dead to join in the urgency. And I loved him.
The basket holds a ticking heart, tick, tick ticking…

“see us soon!” by Julia at East Liberty Medical Centre


Thursday, September 5, 2013
3:25pm
5 minutes
Toronto public health poster

You heard them calling your name from across the yard but you were already too far gone out of their lives to turn back and wave.
“Goodbye”
You made that decision a long time ago but it was hard so you hadn’t come to terms with it until now.
“I can’t”
You wrestled with the idea of it all, the pain, the regret. You couldn’t count your finger paintings fast enough.
“Thank you”
You kept walking as if on a conveyor belt, every step taking you one more year, one more lifetime away.
“Wait”
You asked me if I would send you their pictures, they’re letters in the mail, signed by each of them in their own hand.
“Why”
I couldn’t promise you what I couldn’t bear to offer. It would be my pain too, every time I sealed the envelope with their kisses for you. Send the sweetness away to nowhere because that’s where it felt like you were existing.
“Please”
You chose your path. You picked the soft mattress to lay on, and the perfect duvet to lay under. You made it up so well it felt like a good thing.
“See us soon”
They’d call, in their sleep, in their restless daydreams of you.

“that yellow horseshoe,” by Julia at Sambuca Grill


Saturday, August 31, 2013
6:25pm at Sambuca Grill
5 minutes
Talking With…
Jane Martin


Randi used to bet all her savings at the track. Told her mother she was going to the “library” and that she’d be home by 6. Usually she’d carry a couple books with her in her back pack to prove herself if she were ever asked about it. Her mother never asked about it. Her mother didn’t care much for reading and learning anyway, but something told Randi she’d have a few words to say about her gambling. Might have been the fact that her father was a dirty better and used to take Randi with him to the track, calling her his “lucky horseshoe” because when she was with him he never lost a single race. Randi probably had some unresolved abandonment issues about her father and could easily explain to anyone why she went to the track and why she practically threw away her money each time, but she wasn’t really “dealing” with the pain yet and had no real intentions to. Randi was quiet for the most part, but when she was watching those horses you could swear she was a completely different person; yelling with reckless abandon at each horse, at her horses, at the man announcing the race. Some “professionals” might even say Randi was trying to get her aggression out at her father, yelling in random directions just hoping one man hears her.