“Choosing what is important for her” by Julia on the 504 going west


Friday March 27, 2015
1:08am
5 minutes
Sasha’s notebook

When Andrea lifted her head from steering wheel she didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know that she had just crashed her cream coloured Toyota corolla into a city transit bus, inhibiting 50 people from getting to work on time, or to school, or to the first job interview the two or three people were able to secure since getting back on their feet. She felt her stomach doing summersaults, regretting in that instant her choice to consume only spicy salami cut up into thick round chunks for breakfast. She saw smoke all around her and thought it was only a dream; the rising and falling of a dragon’s breath, heating his layer and keeping himself warm in his cave.

“And now I know he’s not my soulmate” by Sasha at UBC


Wednesday March 18, 2015
1:16pm
5 minutes
overheard at aroma espresso bar

Lying beside G., he smells like salami and body odour or maybe his body odour is salami-like
And now I know he’s not my soulmate
My soulmate’s sweat will smell like pinecones
Looking across the table at A., he chews like a rabbit (all front teeth) and it’s even stranger because we’re eating sushi
I down a half bottle of sake (come on, they’re small)
And now I know he’s not my soulmate
My soulmate will chew mostly with his molars
Flecks of rice will not escape when he leans in to tell me about the shower gel at his gym
Walking beside Z., he always keeps a half-step ahead of me, preferring that I always be in “catch-up” mode
And now I know he’s not my soulmate
My soulmate will walk with me, side-by-side, fingers grazing like blades of grass

I trust signs
It’s a sign
There’s a sign
And there, too

“Where you’re from” by Julia at R Squared Cafe


Monday, April 29, 2013 at R Squared Cafe
11:02am
5 minutes
Caitlin’s warmup prompt

Where you’re from you don’t know anger. You don’t know I’m sorry and you don’t know Go to bed without dinner. You don’t know a songless table, Christmas Eve, or a sageless closet, bathroom, etcetera. You don’t know the leather slipper and all its rage. You don’t know perfectly folded laundry that smells like the mountains and nothing else. You don’t know lasagna for dessert, breakfast, and midnight snack. You don’t know spicy salami hanging on a string, cut thick and eaten with ciabatta before your parents come up for their morning espresso. Where you’re from you have yours. All the wounded pride that anyone else would have. All the snails collected in a mason jar that has the concord grape sticker peeled off. You have the sun telling you to stretch out. You have the moon thanking your mother for a good night. You have the rocky screen door and better windchimes than I could ever hope for. You have the silence of not knowing, the calm of preparation, and you know not the fear of panicking for no reason.