“With lots of ice-creams” by Sasha at Moksha Yoga Downtown

Saturday March 1, 2014 at Moksha Yoga Downtown
5 minutes
My Dream World
Parul Naveen

You got those leetle ice-creams that aren’t reeeealy ice-creams but they look like them in those leetle cookie cones. Monique says, “Why you not put the diapers in the kitchen garbage? Smells like poop in Isabelle’s room!” Monique isn’t the boss of me but I pretend it’s ok for her to talk like this to me. “I put, I put…” I say, quiet. I put those diapers in the downstairs garbage but it’s full so I bring it to the garage. Nice garage. You know, this word, “garage”? Strange strange. I look at all Missus’ nice boxes with big labels and I think about how much they have they don’t use ever. In the box. In the garage. Monique says none of my business. I say, is my business because this is my job.

“SOARING” by Sasha on the Queen Streetcar going West

Monday December 9, 2013
5 minutes
from a Ryerson University subway ad

Soaring and falling are awfully similar, Maggie thinks to herself when she’s jumping. She stretches out her arms. The wind whips her braid. “Shit,” she thinks. “I should’ve called Ned.”

When she was five, Maggie got into her older brother, Malcolm’s permanent marker set. He’d gotten it from their grandmother who brought them various art supplies whenever she came to visit from Montreal. She decided that she’d have been better off if she was a boy. It seemed to her that Malcolm had it a whole lot easier. He didn’t have to wash his hair every day. He skateboarded to school. She drew glasses around her eyes, blue frames, just like Malcolm. He had a few pimples, so she dotted some pink onto her chin and forehead. The Housekeeper Svetlana found her before she got to her mop of curly, red hair. Svetlana promised not to tell Maggie’s parents so long as Maggie didn’t speak a peep about Svetlana doing the mopping in her underwear. Maggie and Svetlana pinky swore. When her father crept into her room to kiss her on the forehead, home from a late flight, he saw a small, usually pale face, red and raw. “What happened to Maggie?” he asked Malcolm, reading in his room. “She found my markers and went ape-shit,” Malcolm said, barely looking up.