“soothingly soft” By Julia in her bed


Saturday February 4, 2017
12:51am
5 minutes
from the facial tissue package

The soul, I imagine is butter smooth and custard soft. It is graceful. The soul is an aerialist. The soul is tender wise and Meryl Streep. The soul is firm but lovable fifth and sixth grade teacher. The soul, is upward direction, launched and soaring, silk scarf decadence in flight. The soul is skin milk and honey.

“we drove past the honey sign” by Sasha in her bed


Saturday January 7, 2016
11:48pm
5 minutes
Summer of My Amazing Luck
Miriam Toews


We drove past the honey sign and Bogert said, “Let’s stop and get some.” I don’t even like honey much, but Bogert does and so I said, “Okay.” The honey farmer wore a wide brimmed hat and had a little moustache. I thought, “What a pretty man,” and Bogert told me later that he’d seen me blush asking that man about all the different types of honey. Orange blossom and elderflower and all kinds of stuff. Bogert chose the kind he wanted and we were almost on our way when that honey farmer said, “Would you like to join me and Elyse for lunch?”

“we drove past the honey sign” by Julia on the plane


Saturday January 7, 2016
11:28pm
5 minutes
Summer of My Amazing luck Miriam Toews

Mom packed two jars of honey in my suitcase and because of that I had to leave behind the conditioner and the peppercorns and the bamboo wipes and the Italian grappa with my name on the label from my brother. We packed the checked luggage the best we could but there were a lot of bottles and jars that we didn’t want to break and were already too heavy to wrap properly with other things like sweaters and socks. My carry on weighs more than I do and my mom and I both overpack things that don’t have a weight limit even if we won’t be able to lift the damn thing over our heads. The flight attendant asked if I needed help and I thought she was going to get angry at me for being so brazenly unlawful. She tried to lift it in the overhead compartment then asked me if I had rocks in there when she realized she couldn’t lift it either. All I managed to say was “Christmas” but she didn’t seem to care even a little about that.

“That’s amazing, honey,” by Sasha at the kitchen table in Horseshoe Bay


Tuesday May 12, 2015
11:21am
5 minutes
Almost Unendurable Beauty
Jocelyn Evie


My son makes pancakes shaped like faces – “That’s amazing, honey.”
My wife wins an award for her azure quilt – “That’s amazing, honey.”
Chris bikes all the way to Whistler – “That’s amazing!”
My mother calls and says that she’s won the lottery – $10,000! “That’s amazing, Mom.”

I shake the mud from my boots and wonder what my wife has made for dinner. I ask. “Spaghetti and Meatballs,” she says, looking at my dirty cargo pants like they might give her an yet unnamed disease. I french kiss her. “That’s amazing, honey.”

“Welcome visitors from Denmark” by Sasha on the 99 going West


Saturday April 4, 2015
10:01pm
5 minutes
from a school sign

cold coffee in a pottery mug made by hands that know the fault lines of a woman’s body
too much almond milk and a dash of vanilla
denmark feels far with so much water between
honey
lick the lip
guard the contents
a lioness
not sure about the night on these flower streets
not sure about eye contact or road signs or lazy feet
unrolling the mat is the hardest part
once you’re there the truth flows
honey
lick the lip
once you’re there the streetlight doesn’t forget anyone
her hips are the mantra i’ve been waiting for

“Isn’t that the same thing?” By Sasha in the Green Room at the Vancouver Playhouse


Saturday January 24, 2015
6:32pm
5 minutes
The Green-ish pilot

Every time I set out to write something sexy, I end up writing about oatmeal or the ocean or someone yelling. Or moving, I write about moving a lot, too. You know when you read something and you’re like, “GODDAMNIT I SHOULDA WRITTEN THAT! THAT SHOULDA BEEN MINE!” Or that moment when you read about a play opening on Broadway that’s about pretty much the exact same thing you’ve been been writing for oh, four years? That moment is really cute. For me, it usually means a knot in my stomach and a bowl of popcorn. Maybe an episode of Nashville. What about the times when you write something that’s so brilliant you know it’s going to not only change your own life, but change other people’s lives too? Then, the big resounding questions is –

how are you going to spread your words like honey across the earth?