“The next full moon will be on July 16.” by Julia at her desk

Tuesday July 2, 2019
5 minutes

I have this big hope that one night
when I look up at the moon I will see
her smiling into me and I will know
that yes, this, here and now, is right

It’s a big reach because these days I
want to see her so bad that it hasn’t
happened except that one night on Bowen
Island when she woke me up from my dream
to pulse my whole life into a frenzy

When you look for something doesn’t it
always do that funny thing of eluding you?
Something like happiness in the shape of a
bird, or a butterfly, landing on your shoulder
then flying away before you can get a good look?

I am not asking for a miracle but for the
acceptance of whatever shape this readiness
will take when it presents itself to me:
a heart, sure, a vintage plastic cup with
all the right stripes of summer…

I will take it like birdsong, here for a
minute and then gone again, waiting until
the night is ripe for another talking moon
full of light and wisdom and knowing

“All my creative juices” by Sasha on the couch at Lewis St.

Wednesday June 7, 2017
5 minutes
Overheard at Mercury Espresso Bar

I stop
mid sentence
mid thought
mid moment
in between
mid moment
a monarch
flies over
our heads
I notice
that it’s
been a long time
since I’ve seen one.

A truck honks
it’s horn
the moment
is broken
the butterfly
is gone.

My sister
and I sit
on a brown
blanket on
the grass
her daughter
all blue eyed

We talk about
gurus and love
friendship and

“sky turned red then erased” by Sasha on her couch

Thursday November 17, 2016
5 minutes
Ellie Sawatsky

Walls thin as butterfly wings I know that your ear is there
High on the sky turning red with the possibility
of midnight I know that your ear is there
pressed on the monarch tissue paper
Sigh lifts above the ceiling
lifts us up the only division between us is us
the only difference between us is this
The chrysalis shed
The womb bare
The holy
water falling over fingertips

College kids smoke joints outside the window
leave rolling papers on the sill
A queen bee makes a hive around the rebellion
the sex the nicotine the so in love
so in love
I am the queen bee and you are bringing me gifts

“Smartass Acts Of Vandalism” by Sasha at her desk

Friday November 15, 2013
5 minutes

“Don’t be a timid little idiot,” CJ says, as he takes the can of red paint out of his black backpack. “Be a fearless fucker,” CJ says, like it’s as easy as Tic-Tac-Toe, like it’s second nature or something. I’ve been practising on a piece of plywood in the backyard since August. “Don’t over-think it,” CJ says, right up close to my ear. “Shut up,” I say, taking the lid off the can, listening to the silence of the city at this hour. I smell the adrenaline off of him, his high off of me, even though nothing has really happened yet. The wall stretches brick after brick. CJ steps back, finally getting the hint, finally giving me my space. I push the nozzle and my months of practise emerge like a butterfly, but in the shape of a man. He looks even fatter here than he is in real life, which is real fat.

“During the spring” by Sasha at her desk

Tuesday, January 1, 2013
5 minutes
the 2012 Ontario Parks Guide

During the spring, when the caterpillars begin their astonishing transformation from larvae to butterfly, my brother locks himself in his basement apartment with his diabetic tabby-cat, William. He’ll emerge in the Fall, once mornings are chillier again, and he will look far worse for wear. His skin will be jaundice and patchy and his beard will be untrimmed and scraggly. The whites of his eyes will be tinted with grey. Every year it reminds me how much the sun gives us – not just the miracle of rising and setting every day – but every sort of colour. Flora and fauna, alike, rejoice in the suns brilliance. The chrysalis, the magical cocoon, holds unbelievably promise, yes? I’ve learned to regard my brother as such, although, at the end of the warmer months, he’s hardly a monarch. His cocooning is due to debilitating pollen allergies that even the strongest over the counter pharmaceutical can’t treat.