“stories superimposed” by Sasha on her couch

Saturday January 6, 2018
10:05am
Winter Watch
Jennifer Elise Foerster

stories superimposed over photographs
superimposed over memory
superimposed over nostalgia

photographs superimposed over
winter superimposed over
filled notebook pages

memory superimposed over
truth superimposed over
right here and right now

nostalgia superimposed over
eye contact superimposed over
wine stained lips

oh god

real superimposed over true
superimposed over
shopping lists

“There is nothing here” by Sasha on her balcony


Thursday May 25, 2017
7:05pm
5 minutes
This is It
James Broughton


The movie theatre where I see Titanic in 1997
– clutching my sister’s hand
crying on the subway the whole way home –
it’s a drugstore now.

The house where I am born on Victoria Park
ravine stretching down the back
– treasure walks and birthday cake
and running through the sprinkler –
has a different coloured roof
and door.

There is nothing here that tells time
like the precise blur
of my nostalgia
a patina of fingerprints
marking grace
and doubt.

“when you sign up” by Julia on the bathtub


Saturday April 22, 2017
9:43pm
5 minutes
From the Aeroplan flyer

The flyers keep filling up my mailbox. I am waiting for your letter. I have to check everyday that the flyers haven’t eaten it.

The summer was filled with mosquito bites and eye licking. You let me lick yours after we did mdma. We took photos of your keys and wallet from underneath the glass table.

You said you’d write and then you never did. I wished I didn’t care. Then you moved. And now neither of us know how to find one another.

“211 Bannatyne ave.” by Julia at Horseshoe Bay


Friday November 13, 2015
11:50pm
5 minutes
from a business card

Remember when I used to come by your work and wait till you got off so we could go get ice cream and caramel sauce and walk the perimeter of the property together before you’d have to go back to your desk and count the hours till you were actually free? Remember how you’d try to take the long way around so you could spend more time with me without saying that you wanted to? Those sticky summer evenings when you would start late and work late and forget which day you were on. Those are the ones I think about when I think about you. Those are the nights I remember how lucky I used to be. Your building looks different now: someone tried to wash off the graffiti and now it just looks uglier. I have to stop myself from going to Nucci’s Gelati so I don’t get tempted by nostalgia to buy you a coconut cone, even thought we were always so disappointed by the shreds that didn’t even taste real.

“twists the whip” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Friday April 3, 2015
5:17pm
5 minutes
The Zurau Aphorisms
Franz Kafka


The fall that you swept in is now called the
Fall

a maple leaf all reds and yellows
I wasn’t expecting you on my doorstep
Lansdowne Avenue
The screech of the bus and the families overflowing
babies and trundle buggies coming straight from No
Frills
Unassuming you snuck peeks as we turned pages and showed our soft
places
A photograph of your parents kissing
Braided hair
God was there all salty breath and open palms facing
up

Nostalgia is a currency carried in my breast pocket