“compelled to live under difficult conditions” by Sasha on her couch


Thursday June 15, 2017
11:11pm
5 minutes
Ancient Wisdom, Modern World
The Dalai Lama


You occasionally wonder about what it might be like to be a sister of the holy order of the Arbutus. They live in a thick forest, in an abbey built of three different kinds of sacred wood no one knows the names of. They are not your traditional nuns, these sisters. They can still have sex, for one, and for two, they question morals and books and all that is sworn to be truth. Sister Lupe even has a husband back in Argentina, but they are happier apart with what she calls “conjugal visits” six times a year. Their creed is long, but one of your favourites is that no one shall ever suck in their tummy.

“the authors of our lives” by Sasha at her desk


Monday October 10, 2016
4:44pm
5 minutes
The Rising Strong Manifesto
Brene Brown


I’m sorry for my chin hairs – – –
my legs \\ my armpits \/
my belly >
“my” is pejorative
none of these parts are mine
TRUMP CARD
I laugh because the cry is too big for my one bedroom apartment

I’m sorry for the unpalatable opinions
on the table between us
swirling squash and shit and sex and
squash

My dreams of motherhood don’t betray my dreams
of taking over the world
with stories of chin hairs
legs armpits bellies

Shred the TRUMP cards and recycle them
Maybe they will end up
paper that you’ll write me a letter on

“A single breast winking,” by Sasha on her couch


Monday February 29, 2016
11:35pm
5 minutes
FWD FWD
Robin Evans


I don’t know how to tell you about
this body
that breaks open
seeds all over the place
dying your hands the colour of the hurt
I don’t know how to tell you about
the time I was grabbed on the subway platform
too young to know what this body even means
to a world obsessed
the time I was followed
fifteen
running up the stairs to
the house on the street named after a tree
heart pounding out of my ears out of my mouth
Thumbing through a phone book for the number to call
We are taught it’s not an emergency until someone
get’s hurt
I don’t know how to tell you about
the complexities of getting home alone
keys gripped one between each finger
glances over a shoulder that burden kisses
and has kissed since breasts sprouted
uninvited

“She said my mistakes made her feel confused” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Sunday February 14, 2016
11:21pm
5 minutes
Dear Mr. You
Mary-Louise Parker


How to shake hands with the first ever Woman President
(who just happens to have long peach coloured fingernails and three very large rings on)

Shake her hand like she’s any other woman.
She is, in fact, an-other woman.
She too uses tampons.
She forgets to pluck a stray chin hair.
She sometimes smokes when she’s drunk.

She too wonders about frizz, and sexism, and avocado in smoothies.

Shake her hand like you mean it.
Like through your palms you’re able to transmit all of your heart’s yearnings.
Who knows?
Maybe you can.


Shake her hand and look her in the eye.
No one likes a watcher – you know the kinda person who looks at the hand their shaking.
There’s too much intimacy there,
Especially for a first meeting.

Shake her hand with power and attention to how her
particular hand wants to be shaken.
Don’t project your own desires on to her.
You’ll only learn her shake style a few shakes in.

 

“lease holders and approved occupants” by Julia on her couch


Wednesday August 20, 2014
9:08pm
5 minutes
from an apartment memorandum

I feel a bit silly asking this, but do you think he wants me to stay for the winter? I’m only asking because we got this memo under the door today about getting new keys because the front locks were being changed, and he didn’t tell me about it. He like, hid the memo from me and I only found it because I was looking for the old memo from two days ago that said something about the drainage pipes. Why wouldn’t he invite me to stay long term? I feel like a summer fling all of a sudden, which is crazy right? He gave me a key for the summer and he’s going to give me a key for the winter too, isn’t he? Why would he all of a sudden not want me to get into his apartment easily? I feel like he’s going to be really annoyed with me calling all the time just to get inside the house we share, right? Well, we’ve been sharing it, I guess we don’t officially share it since my name is nowhere on the lease. I just thought, hey, I’m not a lease holder, fine, but I most certainly am an approved occupant! The residence manager has seen me a bazillion times while he’s watering the one plant in the front yard. I say hi to him every time I walk by even though he just stares at my boobs when he sees me. If anything, I’m an asset to this stupid building. Is that anti-feminist? Is this whole conversation anti-feminist? I’m just trying to figure out where I belong, you know? Well, no, not that desperately. I’m not begging for a key or anything. I’m not begging for a ring at all. I’m good with where we are. I’m good.