“my mother is waiting” by Julia on her couch

Tuesday March 26, 2019
8:07pm
5 minutes
The Greeter
T Kira Madden

Call the woman who decided you were good, the one who heard a whisper of you and was convinced. No shouting match with the sky gods, the enough of you was felt by her first. Call her on the phone and hear her laugh. The real one that she gives you at her own jokes, the real one that you cannot will not forget.

My mother is not waiting by the phone but she will run to it.

After getting rid of all the portable ones in the house, she went out and bought phones with long, curly
cords. She was born running, the woman can run up stairs and around tracks and to the neighbour’s house to give her infant the Heimlich Manoeuvre. My mother was ready and is ready. She doesn’t have call display but she knows it’s me by the tone of the ring. She knows me by the song on the other end waiting for her.

“we were in the same grade together” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Thursday February 15, 2018
9:51pm
5 minutes
Lesbian at a Bachelor Party
Amber Dawn

I run for miles just to get close to you and then when you’re there when you’re in front of my there aren’t words there is only my incessant heart that insists on beating seventeen times too fast whenever I’m in your presence.

It doesn’t help that I’m so hungry for love for touch for attention for kissing for you that I hide when your close and that’s not a metaphor I actually hide as in I crawl under the sink and wait until you’re gone.

It doesn’t matter that I ran for miles to get here and that then seeing you real and alive and breathing and looking worse than I thought you’d look it doesn’t matter it doesn’t matter I will die here in the cupboard of shame and fear and love and sweat and

oh my god

you’re searching for dish soap.

I’ve been found.

“Attackers might be trying to steal” by Julia on her patio


Thursday, July 2, 2015
4:40 pm
5 minutes
from a notice from Google

They rock you from outside your cage
They spit
They leer
They laugh
They drink your blood in a furious rage
They hit
They jeer
They scoff

Run run run
Run run run
Run run run

Run

They steal your words from right off the page
They stab
They fight
They will
They tear your flesh on a live stage
They break
They take
They kill

Run run run
Run run run
Run run run

Run

“Physically he had changed” by Sasha at her desk


Friday May 10, 2013
4:10pm
5 minutes
The Boys Of Summer
Roger Kahn


I got a head start. This infuriated you, I knew from the sound of your angry feet on the sand. I could hear you curse in Spanish, under your breath. I remember when you taught me how to ride a bike, up and down our half acre driveway. We were living in Santa Fe then, Oli had just left for the Army. You lost your temper only once, during those hours, back and forth from the house to the state road. It was when I said that I was afraid. You told me I should never tell anyone if I was scared, that I should keep that kind of thing to myself. I imagined your father, telling you that, and how you’d really done your best to stick to it. Mom said you waited outside when Oli was born and then again with me. You must’ve been terrified. You must’ve wanted no one to know. Easier to stay at arms length. No wonder she decided you weren’t for her.

I get to the other side of the beach. You’re only a few strides behind. You curse again, but this time with a smile on your face. You grab me and wrestle me to the ground.

“Instant teller” by Sasha on the Bathurst streetcar


Friday February 22, 2013
1:34am
5 minutes
CIBC at College and Grace

Bernie chased real’ good. He knew just when the one he was chasing was gonna get tired and when they might buckle and when they might really slow down. He’d pace himself. Bernie knew that running is an art like sculpture-building or stucco. I met Bernie through his best chase of all. He was chasing a Anne of Green Gables down the side of the highway, real dangerous, you know? Dodging long trucks and mini-vans with bumperstickers. I was trying to get from here to there, you know? Minding my own business. And there goes Bernie. We were stopped, traffic-locked, and so I got out and yelled after him. “Why are you chasing that girl?” “She’s a runaway!” called Bernie over his shoulder. I could only imagine where he found that freckle-faced rag-doll.