“I had a voracious appetite” by Julia at the desk

Thursday April 23, 2020
6:50pm
5 minutes
You Never Stop Saving The World
Don English

When I was little
5, 6, halo hair of fuzz
ringlets underneath
I sauced my face a smile
like the Joker on Nonna’s
Bones

Her ribs were silky smooth
the meat would slide off
and you could slurp the juice
off a clean sword

They were my favourite
growing up I wanted to
be exactly like my father
if he held a hot pepper
while eating then I held
a hot pepper while eating
and if he didn’t wipe his
mouth until after he was
finished, I would smile
sauce all over the table
until I had gotten full

There’s a photo of me looking
satiated and filled with
glee after finishing my plate
and likely bites off my sister’s
picky plate and my brother’s
baby plate, meat sauce on the
collar of my balloon patterned shirt

I liked being the favourite
in some way, eating when
maybe I wasn’t really hungry
but in the mood to taste
something

My father liked a girl who
could eat and any kid that
didn’t say ew before trying
something as if they knew
everything about everything
except how to ride a bike
maybe or to finish their
dinner before begging for
dessert

“I can’t tell you” by Julia on her couch

Monday March 2, 2020
10:03pm
5 minutes
For my friend who told me don’t celebrate the dead
Andrea Potos

tonight we found out just how full our days are when we flow out and flood the remaining worries.

I can’t tell you how it started but I can tell you it wasn’t tonight. The camel couldn’t take it any more. tonight the camel gave in.

the night doesn’t sting, though, when our days are good and they are. they’re bigger than before. we have been caught catching sun on the bed on some afternoons. been caught up high in conversation about the night before when we danced together in separate rooms

“Because Wednesday” by Julia on the toilet

Wednesday February 26, 2020
7:54pm
5 minutes
Dirt
Camille Dungy

these days rub my thighs together like they’re trying to deter me

you tell me I have had Days these days and the capital D is not silent

yes, I add, the kind of days where I even have to reschedule my bowel movements

here I am, I have pushed it back as far in the day as it can go and thank god

I needed these five minutes to be in a room with a door that locks

I told someone recently that I can write anywhere and here I am. here I am.

I don’t want the weeks to launch past me like they’ve been doing, I like to cook my eggs slow and low

I like to spend an hour drawing a title page for the first day of the month

but this is full and I am filled and there is no empty to speak of and there is gratitude in naming that and there is enough time if we let time play with us instead of thinking she is trying to do us in

tonight we’ll use the big paper to chart out our next moves

after this movement

after Brahms’ Second

“I find myself feeling” by Julia in her skirt

Friday January 24, 2020
6:40pm
5 minutes
Gathering Indigo
Algeria Jensen

full is the word
full comes to mind

busy is a thing I no longer say
saying busy is an incantation for whatever the opposite of gratitude is

full is what I feel and great
great
full

my days start early and roll late
my nights have questions and low lights and some anxiety about what’s coming down the pipe tomorrow but they end with kisses and affirmations and tight squeezes

so I sleep well
I have dreams but I sleep well

I sleep all the way and then some and then some not

I start when I convince myself I best
I still need to convince myself I best

I lay on the mat with the low light
I stretch the night away and say today I am expanding

I write a lot of words down and then I go into the outside world feeling full

feeling full and full and full
feeling full and happy

“Fill those little spaces” by Julia on the 2

Thursday May 23, 2019
6:18pm
5 minutes
Overheard on the bus

I don’t have room for more feelings.
They say it you don’t let them out you won’t be able to make space for new ones and sometimes the old ones are what keep us sick. I thought I was releasing them but I’m feeling sick so maybe I was wrong. Feeling. I’m always the one feeling. Always considering how I might translate those feelings into words. There’s no room for new words. I have put so many in me that some of them knock around each other looking for a place to reflect quietly. They tend to fill up all the little holes and leave no air in the gaps. It’s very full inside. I don’t want to say too full because that seems ungrateful. I am grateful for it, whatever this is. I know it’s something good or necessary. I know there is no fighting it.
It is a practice, after all, this releasing. It needs attention in the morning, at night, on the bus.

“If we changed the rules of our games” by Julia in Hội An

Friday January 26, 2018
9:16pm
5 minutes
The Mercy Seat
Norman Ravvin

Now that we’ve changed
the rules I don’t cry as much.
As if my face can tell
you how I feel without
losing any water without
causing a drought somewhere
else deep down near the well of me
Now the well of me is full
and happy looks like patience
or a bucket
or forgiveness on the conveyor belt
switched on at high speed
You are coaching and playing
at the same time sometimes
and this is a rule you
have always known to follow
I can learn from this
I can play better too

“rejection is deeply painful” by Julia on her bed


Tuesday March 14, 2017
10:00pm
5 minutes
Daring Greatly
Brené Brown


I am gutted when I realize how wrong I have been
I think a lot about the feeling of my guts being yanked out of me
My belly ripped open
My heart now more exposed
I didn’t know that you were also worried
I didn’t know that you felt pain in the same spot as I did
You are amazed I am still crying
I am amazed you are still here
A hundred years ago we met and we’re still fighting for ease
I didn’t know that you felt pain the same spot as I did
I’m sad for all the simplicity I’ve avoided
I have never been a speaker of few words
You don’t need my apology for that
It’s a nice way to distract you from my genuine fear of being alive and fully feeling everything sharp

“I feel like a skid” by Sasha at Moksha Yoga Vancouver


Saturday May 9, 2015
3:42pm
5 minutes
Overheard at Kits beach

I’ll follow you, North Star.
I’ll follow you all the way down South and up to the icy Arctic and back across to the mountains and the deserts.
I’ll be there to guide you, North Star, when you’re tired of lighting everyone else’s way.
I’ll make you blackberry smoothies with coconut and hemp seeds – you’ll need that plant based protein, North Star.
If you feel like drifting, don’t feel like you must be chained to the North – sail south, ancient one! Sail sideways and in zigzags! I’ll keep your spot warm.
I’ll dry your thunderstorm tears, North Star, when you’re ravaged by grief, when you lose another member of the Milky Way. I’ll cradle you in my arms until you fall asleep, salty-cheeked and eyes swollen.
I’ll run alongside you when you learn to ride a bike, speed demon. I’ll cheer you on and I’ll put bandaids on your knees when you skin them.

“saying she is lost” by Julia on the 505 going west


Monday, April 27, 2015
11:49pm
5 minutes
from Hopelessly Hoping
Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young


Do you remember those days we would show up to a concert wearing almost the exact same thing? I don’t know if you got a kick out of it but it was one of my favourite things. Did I not tell you that? I loved when we’d dress alike because it meant we were spending a lot of time together and our styles were merging because that’s just what happens when people are connected by heart strings. I liked most how it was unconscious or subconscious or whateverconscious because that was more proof that we weren’t even trying to be similar, we just were. Anyway, I guess all that to say I miss it. I miss you. I don’t even know where I am half the time and I’ve realized lately it’s because you’re not here anymore. You used to anchor me to the earth; to myself. I knew more about the world when you were around. I knew more about magic and wonder and rushing out of the house just to meet you at whatever corner so we could talk about writing or the painfulness of falling out of touch with ourselves.

“we were never meant to be admired” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Thursday February 5, 2015
5:13pm
5 minutes
Stranger in a Strange Land
Robert A. Heinlein


There she is
All round wisdom
He was inside of her
Eight hundred years ago
It aches in my though
Still
It’s funny how the gut knows
The gut always knows
She’s good at what she does
She shakes my hand like it matters
I almost feel badly
She has no idea
She thinks I’m just another wordworker
There’s more light where she’s standing
In the know is out of the yes
I taste her poetry
Like he tasted
I lean my head in my hands
It’s heavy
It’s all heavy
She twists her lock
She fills the space with her-
self
Ourselves
We are
We are one
We are one womb-
an
Woman
Womb and
Heart
We are all the same
Her inside is my inside
We’re all outside
Anyway

“this is the best place” by Julia on her bed


Wednesday February 4, 2015
10:29pm
5 minutes
castingworkbook.com

Shying away from the old heartache song
I don’t take too well to that kind of thing anymore
It hurts a bit in places that I didn’t know I had
So I let that tune play on elsewhere
I don’t tell it to stop cause I know it has to keep going
But I send it some peace so it knows It’s not personal
When I meet grace again, I’ll hum it softly
Maybe I’ll mouth the words
That’s when I’ll be able to have it quietly on repeat in the background
Underscoring my day to day
My dishes in the sink
My clothes on the line
My what ifs, if onlys
My midnight snack of whiskey and war

“I might forget” by Sasha at Cherry Bomb


Saturday February 22, 2014 at Cherry Bomb
9:57am
5 minutes
overheard on Roncesvalles

I’ve been following my heart
Like it’s an old friend whom I trust unconditionally and unequivocally.
You know that friend
Who you call when things collapse and you’ve lost all sense of time and morals?
I’ve been letting my heart lead me by the hand.
I find that she often takes me towards strong coffee and sunlight playing through azure stained glass.
Today, she surprised me with shopping on eBay for black boots and paisley dresses.
We’re poor, so I laugh and shake my head and stick my pinky into the jar of almond butter.
We are well worn for our twenty eight years,
us gals.
We find dead birds on the sidewalk and a sob catches in our throat.
We chase the love that we promised ourselves was truest
Even when it aches
Even when growing pains threaten
And thunderstorms brew heavy.

When I forget that she’s there,
that sweet one,
swollen and ripe like an August peach,
she taps me on the shoulder and hums with a tone that sounds like a cello.