“for us to breathe.” by Julia on her patio

Monday June 8, 2020
9:31pm
5 minutes
A Small Needful Fact
Ross Gay

If I am picturing it correctly, the stomach is filling like a balloon
yes a balloon, slowly growing, expanding, reaching. This is a comforting
thought, the balloon, dipping into the edges of the body and retreating
again to fold, this balloon on its way to floating.
As far as I know there is nothing else living there. It is a hollowed
star, a lampless light, the silhouette of breathing and nothing else.
There doesn’t need to be much more, really. There is the in and out the
big the little the wide the narrow and it is constant and it is bigger
than anything in there. It can pilot the ship on its own. Nothing to
contradict if there is nothing else in there. Nothing to distract from
the process of breathing, tell everyone you know there’s nothing else
in there so don’t bother poking around. You won’t find what you’re looking
for, no mechanism to blame or stoke, no wire to trip over, I am telling you.
If I am picturing it correctly, this is all there ever was.

“Would you mind if I tell you you’re the cutest thing?” By Sasha in the kitchen

Saturday February 1, 2020
9:37pm
5 minutes
Would You Mind
Hank Snow

It’s the way that your voice
lilts like a distant relative
(I still can’t put my finger on it)
I don’t mean that to sound perverse
(or do I?)
A familiarity in the cadence of your
arriving (unexpected)
departing (tragic)
I am reduced to wobbly knees
dolphin tummy
when you say the
syllables of my name
only two (!)
syllables all “s”
and “ah”
and “sh”

”ah”!

Today the sunshine
landed on my face
just as I told you the truth
and you listened
(attentive)
explained
(well)
I felt a weight lift
and rise
helium red
tilted my chest to the sky
blue
felt the balloon come back again
nestle in
a different colour

Love is the deep breath

the leap
(ahhh!)

Love is this place
a whole country between us
this place that isn’t a place
but a buzzing
a humming
a knowing
a pearl of big faith

the oyster
is several sets of hands
holding hearts
holding reluctance
holding the daring
and the danger

I’m glad for this:
the salty tongue
the razor’s edge
the giddy laughter

 

“turning to the little girls” by Sasha at La Merceria


Monday, February 10, 2014 at La Merceria
4:40pm
5 minutes
Under the Lilacs
Louisa M. Alcott


I wasn’t feeling grateful when I got home and the house was dark and the walls were quiet and the bed was cold. I wasn’t feeling grateful when the cat was thirsty and the garbage was full and the toothpaste was empty. And, still, it’s Thanksgiving. I text you: “WTF?” I wait. Nothing. I get up to pee at twenty past two and I check my phone and you’ve responded. I should make you a flower crown. “Exams” is all it says. I wonder where things went wrong. Was it your (s)mother? Was it deciding to go straight to University after High School? Was it your older brother’s MDMA problem? In a fit of middle-of-the-night sleepy rage I too type a single word. I am not better than that. I will speak your language. “Shit.” I write, hoping you don’t catch on to my gargantuan caring, to the balloon that was formerly known as my heart, growing daily in my chest.