“Today, they target” by Julia on her couch

Wednesday September 18, 2019
4:25pm
5 minutes
Snapshot of a Lump
Kelli Russell Agodon

do those jade roley things work?
I need something to smoothe out the forehead lines I’ve given myself for always looking so pissed off.
today the billboard asked me if I was willing to do what it takes and I am. I’m willing.
I’ve seen the writings on the wall and they are usually saying the same thing:
you are not good enough to reach the end of the tunnel with the face you have on.
Did you want to trade it in for one of these models? They’re sleek and uniform so all you have to do is slice and dice and then you’ll look like everybody else!

On a different Wednesday I heard that it might be better if I used the 16-dollar scrub. It’s the only one that works, they said.

“You will find it” by Julia at the Hyatt Regency, LA

Tuesday September 17, 2019
10:02pm
5 minutes
The Yak
Hilaire Belloc

in the mirror that enhances all your beautiful white beard hairs

in the dripping bathing suit, sand and salt stained, hanging in the tub

in the crash and burn of an arrival, a hard pill to swallow

in the feeling of say something and then stomaching the consequences when something said would have flapped the wings of that butterfly so rapidly you’d swear we woke up in another dimension

in the dry heat frying our brains into unthinkable messes

in the traffic jam, the nowhere but here, the time spent, given, given

in the hotel pool watching the sky change from summer to purple to night

in the burgers we ate on the bed, the good we pressed into each other’s feet

in the deep sigh when you are waiting for me to hurry up and finish this so I can fill the space between your skin and the sheets

that’s where you will find it, and every last drop

“Is it starting to rain?” By Julia on a bed in Mt. Washington, LA

Monday September 16, 2019
9:37pm
5 minutes
Afraid So
Jeanne Marie Beaumont

Don’t tell me–it’s dark there, riht? Don’t tell me. How do I leave a forever summer and come back to a place where my hands turn white with cold in August?
Don’t tell me it’s raining. It’s not, right? Don’t tell me. I am not prepared. My jacket was a dud but I ignored it. I’m not ready for what is waiting for me. Reality, to put it mildly. Here it is so dreamy. Here I am so dreaming. Planning. Thinking of how we can make it work. We can make it work, right, but don’t tell me if you think we can’t. We can do whatever we want to do if we say we’re going to do it and if we say we’re going to rise.
It was 29 degrees today. 34 in some places. I don’t want to think about the rain.

“I want.” By Julia in Mt. Washington, LA

Sunday September 15, 2019
8:42pm
5 minutes
Prayer
Galway Kinnell

I want to shit
I want to shower
I want to swim in the ocean again
I want to wash the salt out of my ears
I want to go to Joshua Tree
I want to live in a place where it doesn’t get cold
I want to sit quietly
I want to inhale mulch all day long
I want to finish my song
I want to practice patience
I want to be brave enough to rent a car by myself and drive it in a new city
I want to find another taco
I want to buy those gold shoes
I want to get people excited about making things
I want to wave to an airplane and believe it’s waving back at me
I want to write the book
I want to be published
I want to go to Italy
I want to practice patience

“I want.” By Sasha in Niagara-on-the -Lake

Sunday September 15, 2019
8:08pm
5 minutes
Prayer
Galway Kinnell

I want us to want the same thing ha that’s the universal joke isn’t it the separate and the together the hope for the life that we’ve built that we are building the house with the vegetable garden and peonies and apply trees the children and the family and the together the togetherness I want the sweet surrender of dreams I didn’t know I had fumbling towards me with the same speed as the monarchs swinging on the September curl I want the morning to be long and nights to be longer I want the devotion of a swami and the loyalty of a soldier I want the love like the Milky Way changing with the seasons with the ages it’s been a long time coming baby but we’re here now and we are choosing now and oh my good gracious I’ve never wanted anything like I want I want conversation that breathes and I want the space to know what my heart longs for what my soul bakes in the middle of the night when the rain stops and the crickets call YES I want you to want the colour of our spirits dancing I want my dreams to keep leading me back leading me towards truth leading me home

“Sorrows bring forth.” By Julia in Mount Washington

Saturday September 14, 2019
9:50pm
5 minutes
Proverbs of Hell
William Blake

crashing waves smash the bad out of me
smash the everything out of me
returns salt to my inner ear instead
returns salt to my hair line

washed clean are you listening
nothing left to send to the jury
nothing left to mourn

loud pacific ocean knocks me around like a song in a tumble dry
pulls me under
pushes me across the sand
and reminds us all who is in charge
who ragdoll
who rubber band
who goes under and won’t stand back up

washed clean are you listening
rebirthed from the sorrows flipped and flung

“He shone with Heavenly Courtesy” by Julia on the 144

Friday September 13, 2019
3:30pm
5 minutes
Courtesy
Hilaire Belloc

I’m not asking for any kindness.
I never wanted kindness and I’m not asking for it.
Do you think I’m sitting up late at night crossing off names or putting tiny robotic checks next to the ones who opened the door for me?
I don’t need to keep track because nobody is ever doing anything out of kindness but out of fear that one day they’ll be punished somehow for not being kind. It is self-serving and I want none of it.
They talk about it like it’s some new age book, as if we’ve never considered things like this before.
How do you measure the absence of expectations? Is there a way to determine who did something without thinking that someway someday they would get their precious heavenly courtesy back?
Nobody gives away anything for free and I don’t want that kindness shining in my face like a flash-light illuminating.
There are too many awards and rewards and systems based on punitive response for there to be a thing called kindness.

“He shone with Heavenly Courtesy” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Friday September 13, 2019
3:34pm
5 minutes
Courtesy
Hilaire Belloc

Courtesy doesn’t mean what she thinks it means
what she learns it means to be treated well
See she was raised to believe that love looked
cock-eyed and dimpled
that trust was something that could be given
and then snatched back for keepsies

She doesn’t know what it is to be treated well
until she’s forty three and hiking along the trails
of the Pacific Northwest and eating pecans and
protein bars
and she’s tired and she’s lonely and she’s one
with the arbutus and the pines

She realizes that blisters and bloody toenails
and coyote calls and listening to the sounds
of the night are all her
treating herself well
treating herself with courtesy

“If ignorance is bliss” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Thursday, September 12, 2019
5:07pm
5 minutes
The Benefits of Ignorance
Hal Sirowitz
If ignorance is bliss why then
I don’t want bliss
not in the form of head in the sand
fingers in the ears
not in the form of illusion dancing
in her opaque scarves
It’s been six weeks and all I crave
is protein and truth
seeing with the eyes of a woman
who has seen and been seen
as she knows is possible
as she knows is her birthright
Crunchy leaves underfoot
today on a walk in the neighbourhood
I found myself humming a song
that I taught myself in my dream last night
learned by heart on the strong back
of a premonition
that he only told me half the story
last night
Won’t admit fear where the spills are
where the stains are
won’t admit defeat
twirling his ring round and round
a quiet threat
I hum the song all the way back to the
garden and then I sit amongst the
butterflies and squirrels
the cone flowers and nasturtium
spicy open mouth
catching a taste
of what might be possible
I write him a letter in the major key
not to be predictable
not to be oppositional
but because the chord feels right
the timbre in my chest
my fingers playing imaginary keys
a new story
He loves me
that is why
don’t forget
It’s easier to know words
when they are put to music

“He can fix anything” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Wednesday, September 11, 2019
2:04pm
5 minutes
Easter Morning
Jim Harrison

Jer is one of those guys who can fix anything. Sink dripping underneath? Jer’s got it. Car door won’t lock. Call Jer. He even knows how to fix a broken heart. When Kelly left, Jer brought Jemima a scribbler, a new pen, a pepperoni stick and a Toblerone bar. All she needed to write out all her ache, have some protein and a bit of a treat.

When I first met Jer, he wasn’t in the place he is now. He was still drinking, I guess that was a big part of it. He was a fixer for others, I guess, but not really, and certainly not for himself. It wasn’t until he was able to show up and sort out the stuff inside of him that needed fixing, no… healing, that he was really able to start helping other people… the people around him that he loved and saw him through.

“The courage that my mother had” by Sasha at the table upstairs

Tuesday September 10, 2019
12:25pm
5 minutes
The courage that my mother had
Edna St. Vincent Millay

My mother tells me that she
couldn’t have done what I’m doing

Not that anything is the same
Twenty-seven years between

what happened then
and what’s happening now

We speak of re-writing
of re-visioning

in a new tongue
built from rubble

and hope
I imagine a world in which

I do not need you
I do need you

Both are true
as this and that is

As faith and doubt are
love and rage

My mother’s courage
the bones that I build on

Flesh and sinew
teeth and tears

My mother’s courage
the rainbow prayer flags

strung up in the window
catching the wind

“Any sense if Sunday can work?” By Sasha on her couch

Friday September 6, 2019
8:21pm
5 minutes
From a text message

Who is the “you” in your scrawlings
lined pages can’t contain the bigness
of the feeling
the choice
the feeling
the choice

Sandcastle crumbles and I
see myself as I’ve never seen myself
before

The dear hearts say
that I’ve never been more beautiful
and it’s not the skin
the eyes washed clean

it’s the fullness of meeting
the truth with an open mouth
ready to stay soft
ready to bend
ready to break

No snap like the birch
in lightning

The bend like the cello
bow in the hand of a master

or novice

“I could not agree with those who called the autumn a decline” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Wednesday September 4, 2019
8:24am
5 minutes
Earthly Paradise
Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette

It’s a slow crawl towards the cool mornings

September the sister with braids
and pulled up socks

Dew on the black eyed susans
blue sky in sweet conversation
over cotton ball clouds

kettle boils and Lola lays on her back
on the grey blanket
launching herself
over onto her belly
pushing up with doughy arms

”I did it!” Her squeal says
I kiss her caramel hair
”Yes!” I say

Every year this season
brings change

This year this season
brings change

Bulldozer at the door
Angel crossing over shingles
above us

Higher ceilings than before

 

“So close to the end of my childbearing life” by Sasha on her couch

Tuesday September 3, 2019
7:32am
5 minutes
The Girl
Marie Howe

It was never a matter of if
it was only a matter of when
and the knock at the door started

months before we merged
magic and satisfaction
love and hope

the knock of your heart
on my heart

”let’s dance”
”it’s time”

Christmas time
three years ago
he told me he wanted
to have a baby together

He gave me a pacifier
and I behaved strangely

given that I’ve always known

It was the pacifier

Pacify
Placate
I don’t know
I was younger then
I didn’t know what I know now

I cried in the basement
of my parent’s house
the tree aglow two floors above

“and the words still ring true” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Sunday September 1, 2019
2:00pm
5 minutes
From Christy Webb’s Directors Notes (Lungs)

washer cycle turns and tosses
colours run and blue becomes grey
the soap suds make a song like
one you used to sing to the neighbour’s child

rocking her to sleep
oh oh oh the feelings yeah

maybe you’re singing to her
maybe you’re singing to yourself
or the her in you
the loss and the loving
the beauty of giving over to the
universal smackdown
that doesn’t kick her/your ass
in the way that they tell the stories
like these

like yours

someone hopes you don’t hate her
and you don’t
and you do

the words that rings truest
are the ones that don’t come out
in the wash
hanging the years on the line
all colours mixed together

birthday cards and photographs
train rides and waterfalls
beach fires and promises made

under the same sky
as this one

“Mandala-Image Dip” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Saturday August 31, 2019
9:32am
5 minutes
Mandala
Margaret Collis

The heart is at the centre. Yes. You know this to be true.

Your mother teaches you this, again and again, through the seasons of life.
Now, she teaches you in how she listens, how she questions, how she protects.
You will teach heart to your daughter, too, and your sister will teach heart to her daughter and these women, us women, will stand hand-in-hand in the heart revolution.

It sounds more serious than it is. Or maybe it is serious. It’s both.

You wake from another dream where you see the truth in crystal clear image and you don’t smash it down and break it. You lean in and you listen (almost as well as your mother). You lean in and you hear the quiet wisdom of forgiveness. You hear the quiet knowing voice of patience. You hear the trueness of your heart, your heart’s desire, your heart’s heart.

 

“and create a platform” by Sasha on her living room floor

Thursday August 29, 2019
2:02pm
5 minutes
from the Arts Council of New Westminster

Liam lost his job in November and has been looking for something, anything, since then. He had to borrow money from his brother. Ed works in tech. He loaned Liam ten thousand dollars at the same interest rate as the credit union. Liam took on some odd jobs (cleaning out a storage locker of an old professor, painting a bathroom, alphabetizing files for the old professor’s husband), and went on thirty two interviews before he landed something with a start up no one has heard of but most will know in six months, once the app takes off. Liam likes that dogs are allowed at the office, and that Misty, the German Shepherd with one eye, licks his fingers under his desk after he eats Doritos.

“We need to withdraw from impatience” by Sasha in her bathroom

Wednesday August 28, 2019
12:35pm
5 minutes
Quote by Carol Antony

She asks him to be patient
new skin takes time to lose

the sheen of the burn
tender to the touch

He lunges towards distraction
tells himself it’s okay to want

what he wants
”Choice” is a marble

on both of their tongues
hidden in a cheek

a pocket
taken out when it’s just the two of them

Patience is a practise
that begs full surrender

maybe this is as far as they’ll go
She sits on the balcony

counts stars
Looks to the Pleiades for guidance

traces her way back
to him

When they find each other
they are weary

”I don’t need anything from you,” she says
He closes his eyes

“deposited myself in your softest corner” by Sasha on her floor

Monday August 26, 2019
7:16am
5 minutes
Your Room
Robert Sherrin

If I could go back in time
the only thing that I would do differently
is I wouldn’t have broken into your house
and stolen my books back

If I could deposit myself in your softest corner
I would do that
I would nestle into your armpit
and breathe in deep
filling my lungs with cedar wood and salt

If I could predict the future
I wouldn’t even dare
The bubble gets too big and pops
The baby cries and I’m on my knees again
Begging for more time

If I could have anything I wanted
I would know what it is to be seen in the light
of Monday
Unashamed and true
Sunday a forgotten kiss
Saturday a distant memory

“She has even lost one leg” by Sasha at her counter

Sunday August 25, 2019
10:09pm
5 minutes
Fetish
Pierre Reverdy

Pam grabs Maxine, her passport, her laptop, and a Cliff bar. Standing outside in her Rolling Stones T-shirt and underwear, Maxine meows and scratches her. They watch the building burn. “Shit,” Pam says, pulling down her T-shirt, trying to cover her bum. Rudy, from the basement apartment comes over and puts his arm around Pam. She’s not into it, but doesn’t shrug away. They are losing everything, so might as well feel “in it” together.

“Nice kitty,” says Rudy. He has bad breath.

“I’m going to go back in… My photo albums… My mother’s engagement ring… My external hard drive…” Pam keeps listing things and Rudy shakes his head and keeps his arm firmly where it is.

“She has even lost one leg” by Julia at her desk

Sunday August 25, 2019
9:07pm
5 minutes
Fetish
Pierre Reverdy

It is too bad, really, a shame, that she has lost one leg to the bed
and one leg to the floor. Nobody knows what to do anymore. The pull

between is too strong. She has tried to step out into the real world
but one of her legs remains asleep, under the duvet, sweating.

She is convinced that her legs aren’t speaking to each other and wouldn’t
listen based on how things have been going. They wouldn’t be willing, is

what she is saying. This may be a mountain imagined where a small hill
sits, but for her it is very true and very powerful, and hard to avoid.

The leg on the floor is doing a lot of lunging, trying to remove the leg
from the bed, so they are in fact talking, but at this stage it doesn’t

appear that they are speaking the same language, and thus, the
break down of communication. One is saying sakjadsadsjafkkafj and one is

saying, i hear you talking but I can’t understand what you’re saying. What
are you saying? Is that about me? Is that directed over here, or at yourself?

The leg in the bed is doing a lot of worrying, perceiving the floor to be
too slippery, too dangerous, too leading into the next room or beyond that

heaven forbid. The body in between both legs is almost being ripped apart,
this heave, this ho, this here, this there, this what are you talking about?

“so much past inside my present” by Julia on the Ebus from Chilliwack

Saturday August 24, 2019
10:09pm
5 minutes
Past in Present
Feist

I prayed to the sweet in my finger prints,
the gold that has been found in all the touching.
I thanked the god that had done the speaking.
I knelt down to the alter of my former self: Great Teacher.
Oh how I wept.
How there was a deep whisper.
But how loud.
But how I listened.
The gentle nudge of spirit,
the family of cells storing memory in my dreams and letting me remember.
Oh how I remember.
The way a crowd would bring out my inner coward,
how I would ask to start over.
And Teacher Self bathed in love now,
in abundance now, I needed you as you were then.
I needed you exactly as you were.

“so much past inside my present” by Sasha on her floor

Friday August 23, 2019
11:02am
5 minutes
Quote by Henry Miller
dear you
dear heart
dear pieces
dear past
dear hope
dear fear
dear dream
dear phoenix
dear dust
dear love
dear fake
dear lie
dear water
dear nightmare
dear doubt
dear world
dear arbutus
dear crow
dear salt
dear unknown
dear choice
dear laugh
dear toe
dear rose
dear heat
dear you
dear her
dear me
dear truth
dear forgiveness
dear you
dear shadow
dear angel
dear moisture
dear fact
dear bones
dear blood
dear goldfish
dear beads
dear feet
dear cross
dear dawn

“What beauty, friend, grows in your darkness?” by Julia at her desk

Thursday August 22, 2019
8:37pm
5 minutes
Freeing The Creative Spirit
Adriana Diaz

I am asking some of those tender spaces
those in between here and now places
if i love myself and if the answer is
yes, 100% yes i do then what am i willing
to commit to

I must leave the dirt on the floor, i
must stop eating out of garbage cans
and stop expecting to be filled up, i
must wait patiently at the tooth-edged
sword that wants to jab and hit and poke,
i must close my eyes more and find some
softness in the hidden drawers

In my darkness there grows a beauty
it first comes from rage and from pain
and then it blossoms into something i
can’t name or won’t name in case if i
do it blows the petals off in a fury
there is a quiet and there is a small

i must share my darkness with myself
so i can name her and then forgive her
and hold her and let her sleep in my
bed and give her chewy biscuits

I must love her the way i would a
daisy or a snail; slowly

“There must be something to worship.” By Sasha at her desk

Friday August 23, 2019
7:32am
5 minutes
Quote by Henry Miller

Deity on the corner holding herself accountable
chasing sunlight like a dog tail
braiding love with something red and soft
wrapping it around her shoulders
keeping herself warm
We hope for the best and when the worst comes
we let him in and have him at the table
He eats a big plate of pasta and meatballs
and forgets to put the toilet seat down
”It’s okay,” I say
and when he leaves I wipe the surfaces down
with vinegar and an old cut up T-shirt
Morning comes like a locomotive
Deity brushes her teeth and tells herself
that today will be a good day
”Today will be a very good day”

“it is the revelation of the god-like” by Sasha at her desk

Wednesday August 21, 2019
7:13pm
5 minutes
From a quote by Nicholas Berdyaev

God moves in the emptiness between faith and doubt. God is the fullness there. I know this now. God as love, God as the diamond at the centre of the heart of the truth, not some God in the sky who judges or smites. Not some God who is all-knowing and bearded. Hanging from the vines, swinging between the two, faith and doubt, I find solace in the quiet stillness of five o’clock light. Solace is a breaking open sometimes, it’s not always peaceful, but it’s messy and it’s real. I know myself now in a way I never have. That is the medal I tuck into the pockets of my heart. That is the crystal I keep in my left hand. I find strength in the loved ones who send messages on the wings of small brown birds, chirping and singing outside the window, calling me towards softness, calling me towards this.

“it is the revelation of the god-like” by Julia at her desk

Wednesday August 21, 2019
5:31pm
5 minutes
Quote by Nicholas Berdyaev

So i double booked myself on Wednesday.
You said you could meet me after i could
meet you and then i realized that i had said
yes too quickly again and i’m sorry

i think i didn’t want to see you more than
the other thing but that’s because you
forgot my birthday last year and i guess
i still haven’t forgotten that

now you’re telling me it’s your birthday
the next time i’m free to meet you and
i don’t know why but i don’t care and i
don’t want to make it my problem

It’s not just that you forgot my birthday
last year, it’s that you invited me over
to your place to celebrate and then when
i got there you didn’t even mention it

So i was excited to be doing something
sweet like being celebrated on my
birthday and i could have stayed home
and smoked weed and danced by myself

I could have made plans with any of my
other friends but I chose you and the
realization never even came to you, not
late but never and that’s the weirdest part

As far as you know I’m the only one in the
world who doesn’t get older every year.

“Art making as a playful, life-supporting activity” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Tuesday August 20, 2019
7:31am
5 minutes
Quote by Joseph Zinker

I get in there and put the words on the page
At least I do that now
and then and tomorrow
I let it go and see where it takes me
I follow it
I listen
I catch the tail of inspiration
sometimes clumsy
sometimes sticky fingered
sometimes grasping
I throw it up to the Gods and see what rain comes down
see the colour of the water
see the flow of the rhythm

Fall fall fall free

These are noble things I think really
these are noble things

I count them on my fingers and toes
lying naked beside the truth
beside the moon

I count these noble things
noble truths
I hold them as I hold
you as I hold me as I
let go

“But he was never seen practicing” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Sunday August 18, 2019
11:01pm
5 minutes
Cato The Younger
Plutarch

Julie says that you’re all about family
that it’s my job to make sure
you’re close to your people
feel the tether to the roots
to the blood to the source
“Don’t put her in daycare if you can help it
Have Grandma or Grandpa there”

Neptune transits coming around for all three of us
and I’m wondering about right now
What are the planets saying
What are the stars shouting to us
across shine and bright
A beauty has settled in the space
where the day broke

Down to the bone we go
Into the marrow we crawl

Julie says that your Sun needs to be present
needs to be physically close needs to touch you
We both do
Sun and Moon
Your arm touching my arm
Your toe touching his belly

Good grief
these things that we try to lean on
scaffolding
house of cards

“stop valuing receiving over giving” by Sasha on her couch

Saturday August 17, 2019
3:15pm
5 minutes
Lectures
Musonius Rufus

Hahaha that’s funny
I mean
It’s actually the opposite
giving and receiving
receiving and giving
Is it a gender thing
A learned thing
A patriarchy thing
breathing down the front
of my shirt towards my
wisdom towards my knowing

Give give give give give
we are taught before we can walk
apologize before we speak
mind the Q and the P
Oops
I mean
It’s actually the opposite

In the stick of the final
nights of summer
this person tells me that
I am not very good at receiving
or asking or getting
and I am suddenly faced with
myself from nine years ago

the one slipping into and out
of all the sheets that stack
to make the book that I’m
only now starting to write

“in the present moment for” by Sasha at her desk

Friday August 16, 2019
8:13am
5 minutes
Meditations
Marcus Aurelius

You are liquid sliming between the cracks in the tile on the kitchen floor
You are the three stars in a row speckled across the sky like a belly
like a line of freckles or braille spelling out
WE DID A REAL NUMBER ON EACH OTHER
You are a fox running through a birch forest no leaves just peeling bark
and howling hearts
You are a tug at the grounding stitch
You are a tsunami washing out villages washing away dolls and dreams and sunscreen
You are a meditation on impermanence an unacknowledged silence
You are a death
You are the crest of a wing spanning East to West
stretching borders and fault lines with your misconceptions
You are a mushroom in the moss in the woods in the quiet

“we should not trust the masses” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Thursday August 15, 2019
10:02am
5 minutes
Discourses
Epictetus

“Do not trust the masses”, Domenic says, drinking his dry white wine and scratching his chin. His beard is turning grey. I haven’t seen him since I was a teenager, and he looks the same but a bit more pickley.

“I don’t, I’m just trying to – …” Domenic puts his hand on my hand, rested on the tabletop.

“You must follow your own sense, or one day you’ll wake up and you won’t know how you got to where you got to. That is not a good feeling. Take it from me.” He finishes his wine. My mother tops him up. She’s been sitting quietly across the table, watching.

“I believe that we can have our own sense, and be contributing members of society,” I look up at the starry sky.

“foolish joy, greedy desire” by Sasha at her desk

Wednesday August 14, 2019
10:03am
5 minutes
On The Brevity Of Life
Seneca

drunk on his own smell it’s gross really i’m not sure about any of it any of the bullshit that goes along with an i do or a yes or a no is there ever actually a question or are we animals running around the farmyard the jungle the scent of another calling us down into the mud calling up to the balloon clouds unsure unsure unsure and then sure sure sure sure is the service of oneself the ultimate gift to the other crow calls that it’s a tuesday that it’s warm that the baby’s diaper needs changing i don’t know where i put my biggest baddest dreams the deeper we got into the earth burying our toes in the sand watching the horizon turn dark

“Self-Portrait Image Dip” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Tuesday August 13, 2019
10:02pm
5 minutes
Self-Portrait
Lynne De Spain

Shake the dream sideways and what do you see
Poseidon riding the bull back to the kelp palace
Persephone the vulnerable holding her crown of thorns
You tell me things I know are not true about my world
Zeus on the mountain drunk on the possibilities
unaware of the basic fundamental of cause and effect

I will braid my courage with my wisdom
Don Athena’s breastplate and wield her sword
Gallop towards an unknown justice
Kill the illusion with one screaming plunge
We have misunderstood one another for too many seasons
Now we see if there is a place we want to be
on the other side

“Take a moment to remember” by Sasha at her desk

Monday August 12, 2019
8:32pm
5 minutes
The bus instructions

On the day you were born
the skies whispered to go deeper
into the cave than I had
ever been the clouds kissed
the sweat from my back
my brow the matriarchal line
protecting me from all the danger
and all the unlove
bringing me deeper into my
self

On the day you were born
I met a part of my
self that I
didn’t know before
the threshold of pain
higher the threshold of power
wider the space for opening
a portal to the other realm

where the light glows
where the truth knows
where mother and daughter
are on a continuum
through age
through heaven
through

“Take a moment to remember” By Julia on the 4

Monday August 12, 2019
12:55pm
5 minutes
the bus instructions

Well I have 5 minutes to remember my whole life and i know I have more memories than time.
I remember you sitting above me in the lecture hall with your swoopy hair and your cool glasses, confident, quiet, intriguing. My eyes landed on you and I liked you instantly. You looked like someone I wanted to know. Like someone I wanted to kiss. You stared a hole in the back of my head and when I turned to look you didn’t stop. We made eye contact for one whole minute at a time, and in those days one minute was like one complete lifetime. You were in my tutorial afterward but you barely uttered a word. So confident with rows between us and no real reason to speak. I got my claws in you then. I remember wanting you to be watching when you weren’t and I let you know I knew it. I could tell this story with more time and more juice but I know I’m running out.

“Slicing lake Ontario” by Julia at her desk

Sunday August 11, 2019
8:27pm
5 minutes
Catastrophe that Nearly Brought Down a Plane
Sabyasachi Nag

Darling tonight did you hear me ask you
a less than hypothetical question about
our children and about the future that
might show you just how much I’ve thought
about these things?

You didn’t seem to clock it and that
didn’t bother me then but it’s bothering
me now and I wished I had said, Excuse me
did you hear what I said about our kids
without you leading the charge?

These are moments for me to reflect on
by myself I suppose, because did I say
it out of truth gargling against my cheeks
or did I say it out of poetry and the
persistent chase of perfect phrases?

Are you changing your mind now that
I’ve got mine on straight? It would be so
sad after all this time if we had found
ourselves on different pages again. It
might break my heart into weapons.

I think about this future family of
ours and where the hell are they going
to live? In this one bedroom apartment?
In this city that you said yourself might be
too soft for them and for us and everything.

“Slicing lake Ontario” by Sasha at her desk

Sunday August 11, 2019
7:30pm
5 minutes
Catastrophe that Nearly Brought Down a Plane
Sabyasachi Nag

We’ll fly east in nineteen days
over the mountains that grew us
over the peaks that destroyed us
We’ll fly above the colours and
the clouds above the petty
grievances and the monumental hurts

We’re leaving a place we’ve known as home
five years of loving and living
of making art and granola and love
We’re leaving a place we’ve kissed
and bled and thanked and known
where our girl was born
the greatest feat of all

We’ll fly towards family
towards whatever roots are left
towards who knows really now that
everything is upside down
Secure the mask of the person next to you
I wish that was the case

All I know is I need the pressure of
my father’s hand
on my back
when he embraces me
My mother’s salad dressing
My sister’s eyes

We’ll slice over Lake Ontario
towards a speckled sky

“the shedding of lint” by Sasha at her desk

Saturday August 10, 2019
9:38pm
5 minutes
Laundromat
Carmen Pintea

Picking the lint out between your tiny bean toes is sweet satisfaction. Saying your name, a mantra, a call to dig deeper, go further, hold on, give it up, a wish. Burrowing my face in your neck – this love is eternal. This love is wilder than any love I’ve ever known. Words are strange weights, strange reaching, strange how things all line up and then don’t and then do. You see the truth of every moment, every interaction, know who to trust. God I hope you never lose that. You and me, I’d say quietly, those ten months, when things were the hardest. You and me. I can’t wait to see you in my sisters arms, my sister, my lifeline. I can’t wait for you to meet your cousins. I can’t wait to dance you around the first floor of the house in the woods, where I danced as a babe, where we all danced.

“the shedding of lint” by Julia at her desk

Saturday August 10, 2019
8:02pm
5 minutes
Laundromat
Carmen Pintea

We walk every morning toward a cinnamon bun and
everybody stares at you, watches you. I am but
a thread attached to your coat pocket, I do not
unravel, but lead, I lead you to the cinnamon bun
so you can walk without bumping into all the people
who are falling in love with you.
You and your gap-toothed mouth, little air bubbles
flying out, like an angel or a dream.
It would seem like you are drifting but that’s because
the people watching you give you lift by grabbing time
by the throat so she will slow down and let them see you
better. It is not magic. It is not good.
What’s good is a cinnamon bun and that is all you want
this morning, like every morning, not to be watched or
crossed or lifted from the earth, you have been begging
for dirt in your toe nails since the last time someone
tried to convince you that you were theirs.
It wasn’t me, I wouldn’t do it. I know what it’s
like to have the whole world needing something from
you that you can’t give them because it’s made up
from the inside places they hide all the wrong ideas.
I know because I wasn’t always a thread, I wasn’t
always a help, I wasn’t always so sure of how to
leave my house and find the cinnamon bun.
But because this lint sheds form the lining of our
hearts in the same way, I take you. I show you how.

“more relaxed than how I think I look to people.” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Friday August 9, 2019
7:23am
5 minutes
Descension
David Ly

coming in hot this morning
not enough sleep tossing and turning
and sweating and breathing
and when will it end
when will it burst
the monsters clawing at my
belly at my chest at my cheeks
my eyes are her eyes now
and i see you swallow that
i see you drink that down

the pictures of what happened
collected like momento collected
in a line and then rearrange
re-ar-rage
rage turns to tight tongue
tight lip tight tight tight
puzzle pieces of the last years
of these last days
of the days you left and laughed
and told me everything was okay

every story has a beginning
a middle an end
some stories are cyclical
some stories end where they began
every story has those three parts
now that the story is in question
the pictures of what happened
different exposures to me
different exposures to you
i guess that’s part of it
we don’t see things in same hue
right i guess that’s part of it

“you have the memory of a goldfish”
you say and i most certainly do not

i am an elephant and elephants never forget
i remember the taste of the first time
streetlamp and bus lurch
the sweetness of those sleeps with toes touching
i remember the dent in the coffee table
the words that broke the sky
pushing against the wall underneath the photograph
of our future pushing and wailing
and riding and now

“A funeral” by Sasha at her desk

Thursday August 8, 2019
9:14pm
5 minutes
Sophocles
Charles Kell

We get caught behind a funeral on the way to the cemetery.

“I guess we should pull over?” You say. Everything a question. Everything in question.

“Obviously,” I say. Sour milk.

You pull over and so do the other cars on the road. Let the procession pass.

I’m back the day Steve died. Finding him. Vomiting and screaming and cupping his face in my hands. I’m back at his memorial. Nothingness into more nothingness and egg salad sandwiches.

“You okay?” You say. Everything a fucking question.

“No I’m not okay!” I say. Forgotten leftovers at the back of the fridge.

“I mean…”

“I know what you mean…” I give a one-third smile two third grimace.

“the only identifier” by Julia in the floor of a hotel room

Wednesday August 7, 2019
10:33pm
5 minutes
Orange Socks
Kate LeDew

it is cold in here
I
I
I
am glad I brought a sweater
the people
will
b
e
coming home soon
I have identified the
pro
b
lem

it is me and my hugged wound
laying
together as if
ol
d
frien
ds

we are In sep er able

or so they say

they
they
they

it does not compute
spelling in this
lan
gua
ge

is
hard enough already
already hard
alredy enough

e nu f f

I
I
I
have stopped asking questions because

no

body

knows

any thing
anything
any things

“the only identifier” by Sasha at her desk

Wednesday August 7, 2019
10:24
5 minutes
Orange Socks
Kate LeDew

  1. Make a peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich. Cut it in half, diagonally. Leave it on the plate for a few hours. You aren’t hungry. Haven’t been for almost two weeks. Funny how appetite becomes the barometer for feelings, at least in your family.

  2. Find the sandwich, only a bite taken. The contents have seeped into the bread. The bread it turning hard. Take another bite.

  3. Phone rings and you ignore it. You can’t bear to put something on your voice, the connective tissue to the truth. You would have to if you answered, no matter who it was, let alone Miranda.

  4. You open up the sandwich and run your finger through the jam. You lick your finger. You say a small prayer to the strawberry seeds.

“sucking everything in.” By Sasha at her desk

Tuesday August 6, 2019
9:02pm
5 minutes
Across This Body
Jeni De La O

she sets herself on fire
it’s not the first time
but she burns differently

now that there’s the most to lose

ashes fly to the sky
flickering fantasy
floating towards the opposite
she explodes into all the

pieces of possible truths
colours like feelings
smoke of spirit
roar of the breaking

betrayal is a red
mixed into the blood

as she burns she paints
herself in the shades of
the now the ones
she predicted but always
wanted to escape

the true things
the small things
the things that are clever
and vicious

unknown

now that she’s nothing
she has everything
now that she’s here
she sees herself

whole
for the first time

“sucking everything in.” by Julia at her desk

Tuesday August 6, 2019
6:50pm
5 minutes
Across This Body
Jeni De La O

I don’t know how many days I will write about time and
how many minutes

When i pour my coffee for the 3rd time you wait and
smile cause oh you see yourself in it

I never had addictions until i met you
I never smoked a thing until that night

And darlin’ I will wait for another puff
if it means you’re the one passing it to me

I don’t know how many days I will love this line
or the next one that inevitably follows

When i stumble on a phrase I like better than the feeling
it occupies inside of every swallow

I never had addictions until i met you
I never smoked a thing until that night

And darlin’ I will write this way till mornin’
Cause I’ve got the best obsession in front of me

I don’t know how many days I’ll write about time
and how many hours

When I dance for you after all the years of sucking in
you smile at my body of work and of beauty

I never had addictions until i met you
I never smoked a thing until that night

And darlin’ I will hold on to forever and again
if it means that you’re holding back to me

I never had addictions until i met you
and now you’re the one thing on my mind

“an overdose, the fire hall repainted red.” By Sasha at her desk

Monday August 5, 2019
10:42am
5 minutes
Orography
Alison Braid

I read you my writing
two poems
at the kitchen table
that’s grown seven feet
since this day last week

a kitchen table that sees
the pancakes and the salt
the chilli and the fights
the Scrabble and the worst

You meet me in the words
beyond the wrong and right
only by being present
but that’s enough for now

two poems
speaking the unspeakable
shrieking in their small stanzas
shaking ghosts from their pockets
sand from their ears

“Aida drank her father’s unsugared coffee” by Sasha in her bed

Sunday August 4, 2019
10:21pm
5 minutes
A Dull Yellow Presence
Mona’a Malik

Aida reaches across the table and takes a sip of her father’s unsugared coffee. It tastes like tar.

“What are you doing?” He’s back from the washroom, hands in his pockets, crease between his eyebrows deeper than when he left.

“I just wanted to – …”

“That’s for grown-ups.” He sits down and stacks his cutlery on his plate, putting the paper napkin, folded, on top.

“I’m sorry, Papa.” Aida gets that sinking feeling in her stomach and wonders when her mother will pick her up. Saturday morning breakfasts with her father were court ordered. No one checked with her.

“Aida drank her father’s unsugared coffee” by Julia laying

Sunday August 4, 2019
8:21pm
5 minutes
A Dull Yellow Presence
Mona’a Malik

Aida lays with her left eye in her palm, pulsing, pushing. Her father is across from her in his easy chair, perusing the daily flyers. That’s the only thing he enjoys reading. The last book he finished was in 2000. He doesn’t remember the title, but the year is easy to recall.

Aida doesn’t like to be gaurded, watched. She feels like her parents keep taking turns on “Aida Duty” and neither of them really want to do it. Aida clears her throat, a bit strained.

Her father leans over and passes her his cup. She takes a sip and shudders.

“retirement and investment savings” by Julia on her couch

Saturday August 3, 2019
9:34pm
5 minutes
From a piece of mail

It’s true what they say, the banks are out to get us.
Mine charges me for being self-employed by making me pay a fee every time I exceed 12 transactions in a month. I could look into options that don’t include throwing money away but this stuff scares me because it makes me feel stupid and being stupid is one of my major fears.
I wouldn’t be able to admit that to just anyone. I am afraid of feeling small and helpless and useless and dumb and this perpetuates the cycle. I let the banks get me. I let them keep me small. I have no plans for investments or retirement because my brain doesn’t know how to think any further into the future than the next word after this. Maybe that’s fear too, keeping me believing that.