“moths drift from the trees” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Friday February 9, 2018
5 minutes
Al’s House
Lorna Crozier

I was a sailor once.
I was a mermaid once.
I was an exploding star.
I was a grieving angel.
I was a piece of dust caught
in the bellybutton of a lost boy.
I was a moth once.
I was a good liar.
I was a red stamp
on immigration papers.
I was a banana farmer.
I was a rock star.
I was a bluejay.
I was a fawn that
only survived one spring.
I was a grandmother.
I was a grapefruit.
I was a good listener.
I was a criminal.
I was an exile.
I was a shaman.
I was a lover.
I was the last page of
a library book.
I was a pair of kitchen scissors.
I was Shakespeare’s daughter.
I was a lamb.
I was a killer.
I was a shadow
stretching across the sky.

“wrongfully convicted of murder” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Wednesday August 6, 2014
5 minutes
Blog TO

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, or, should I say, chosen ones of each racial and socio-economic group that represent this diverse and yet still prejudiced city. Ladies and gentlemen, look at this man. Look at his face. You might be thinking to yourself, “That is the face of a killer… Look how sullen he is, how forlorn, look how he rarely makes eye contact, how he mutters to himself… That is the face of a killer!” Look closer. Look beyond the bad haircut (sorry, Pete). Look for the lifetime of suffering, for the abuse, for the abandonment. Pain is easily dressed in robes of anger or fear, but it’s pain. Don’t fall victim to that blind man’s bluff. It’s pain, ladies and gentlemen. It’s pain there, that you see, on Pete Mathieson’s face. Did you know that by the time Pete was three, he’d been in seven different foster homes? Did you know that he was abused by an older foster brother… twice? Did you know that he is an insomniac and rarely gets more than an hour sleep a night? Now, look at that face…