“A woman came out of the farmhouse.” By Julia on Kits Beach

Monday, March 12, 2018
5 minutes
Exactly What To Say
Kim Church

In her hand she was clutching a dead chicken by the neck. From where I was standing behind the red Birch, and how its head bobbed methodically, it appeared to be still alive, merely intoxicated. Like Ariane was dragging her drunk friend home after too many jagger bombs.
I don’t know why I thought I could hide from her. She spotted me right away, a twig in these heavy woods.
I froze in my spot and then managed a wave. It was as awkward as I’d ever been. The look on her face said nothing in the world had ever disappointed her more.


“I don’t have anything else…” by Sasha at the kitchen counter

Thursday July 14, 2016
5 minutes
overheard at The Tenant

I don’t have anything but these boots and this hat, honey, so if you’re looking for a sugar daddy it’s not me. Hate to disappoint you, I can smell disappointment from a mile away. My Ma was always disappointed, not just by me, by life, by her folks, by my Dad. You learn to develop the ability to know when a person is really swimmin’ in it. I knew to stay away. I’d busy myself with something or other, you know, in the barn or cleaning up. When Ma was down in the dumps the house got like the pig sty. Only worse. Pigs are actually pretty clean beasts. Not like us.


“Like eagle rounding out the morning” by Sasha in front of the fire

Monday May 4, 2015
5 minutes
from a poem by Joy Harjo

Like eagle rounding out the blooming morning
my brother leans into the sunflower and shakes the dew off
It splatters onto his plaid shirt and he
brushes it off
The damp more than he bargained for
The yellow petals remind me of Aunt Ginny’s fresh
churned butter
Dipping our fingers in and licking them and dipping our fingers in
She’d tap our wrists
“Scram!” She’d say
But it was warm as flannel and cloves
It wasn’t cruel like our grandfather

My brother pulls weeds from around the flowers
chucking them over his shoulder
I do the same
Following his lead
“Like this,” he says
Making a pile
the unwanted


“NO FUN” by Sasha at the Young Centre for the Performing Arts

Monday December 2, 2013
5 minutes
from graffiti on College Street

It’s no fun when you come home with a chainsaw. “It was on sale,” you say, like that makes any difference. I know what you’re going to do. I read your testament. I found it in the oven this morning. Maybe you meant to roast it, like turnips, but you forgot to turn the dial to three hundred and fifty degrees. You’re going to saw each beam, each post, each wall. You’re going to do it when I’m out in the barn, feeding the pigs. I’ll look out the barn window, the sun rising crimson, and I’ll see the house fall, with you in it.