“then laid bare.” By Julia in her bed

Thursday November 9, 2017
11:27pm
5 minutes
The Task
Jane Hirschfield

Across the bed she laid herself bare
Gloves to invite play
Boots to indicate business
Okay to invite play
Her hair curled into a jungle cat
That’s what he asked for
He called her his lion
She wanted to make his birthday a special one
Remember when she had those
Sexy photographs taken when she
was twenty-five and newly off the hormones
She kept it a surprise for him
and then one day decorated the entire house with her in lacy underwear, his plaid shirt, her
Sam Edelman knee highs
She thought it was for him
Years later she knows that it
was always for her

“then laid bare.” By Sasha at her desk

Thursday November 9, 2017
8:33am
5 minutes
The Task
Jane Hirschfield

This morning the sky was caramel
I dipped my finger in and tasted
sweet and sour
bitter and salty
I gulped and drank
and gorged
Please won’t this help me understand

I wept off the balcony
hoping my tears might bring Spring
Five more months
Five more months

Hallelujah
I said
The world broken
and laid bare
My hands covered in sunrise
My lips dripping fatigue

The sun understood my yearning
You do too

“a certain brand of peanut butter” by Sasha at her desk


Tuesday June 27, 2017
11:41pm
5 minutes
The Power Of Habit
Charles Duhigg


What do we have
we have a jar of peanut butter
we have Nescafe
we have all the will to
change this place for
the better
Oh the better
Oh the better
What do we have
we have tear-away track pants
we have water from the tap
we have the grief of forty two
years between us
What do we have
Oh the better
Oh the better
we have the better of this
the best of eachother

“He lowers his eyes and I know” by Sasha on her balcony


Sunday June 4, 2017
12:25pm
5 minutes
Years Later, I Go Back To Thank You
Anders Carlson-Wee


He lowers his eyes
and I know that he’s
thinking of the space between
clavicle and neck
the tender taste
of summer skin
sweat and watermelon
salt and sunscreen
“Look at me” I say
the unfamiliar crack
of fear
of wishing
He raises his eyes
forest floor of longing
stretching the width
of this city
reaching up towards
the sun

“Wherever you are” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Saturday April 15, 2017
2:41pm
5 minutes
The Promise
Tracy Chapman


M. brings me an avocado smoothie after
I’m vomited and shit
for three days straight
Too bad the walls are thin
Too bad the sun takes as much as it gives
He brings me up to the roof and we
look out
the ocean cresting a possible future
Kisses me and I laugh because his gaze
is so penetrating
I think about AIDS when we fuck and
then feel ignorant and sick
I vomit as soon as we’re done
my breasts resting on the toilet seat
M. holds my hair
Naked and retching
prayers over the loudspeakers
perched on top of the mosque

“living in the ordinary world” by Sasha in the Kiva


Thursday April 13, 2017
10:42pm
5 minutes
From a Way of the Heart info sheet

Living in an ordinary world
like we all are
like the sound of the streetcar rattling
like a city haunted with
bike rides and kisses
scratched palms and farmers markets
Here we all are
now now now
shaking hands with history
nodding at future
making eye contact with what could have been
falling backwards into what is
Here we are
dancing circles around the
house where we grew up

“I grasped his.” By Julia at a cabin in Tofino


Wednesday February 22, 2017
10:41pm
5 minutes
Learning to Love You More
Harrell Fletcher and Miranda July


It was sudden in the way that sometimes my own pulse strikes me. I saw his tiny face and I loved it instinctively. I loved everything about him without meaning to; I had not prepared my heart for such surrender. He was something like a perfect feeling. A land without time. The best hug. I threw myself at his helpless feet. I grasped his burden like a swatter catching a fly. I have never thought once about anything.

“I grasped his.” By Sasha at her desk


Wednesday February 22, 2017
6:35pm
5 minutes
Learning to Love You More
Harrell Fletcher and Miranda July


Before he could say anything
I
I
I’m not sure if words are the
answer after all I mean I I I
it’s bigger than I I
I grasp his hand because sometimes
often a touch says a universe
and all I want is the promise of
the present
Before he could say anything
I I
I I
I interrupted
a habit worse than
chewing up
I inturr-
upted saying
“LOOK
I get scared
I get real scared
that this is all gonna
burn and what’s left
won’t be enough to keep
my full keep me
filled
LOOK I love you
like lava
LOOK I interrupt
because I’m passionate
LOOK here’s my full
hands full heart
full hands full of heart”

“filled with feeling but generally paralyzed.” By Sasha at her desk


Thursday February 2, 2017
2:09pm
5 minutes
From an interview with Miranda July in LENNY letter

always
filled with feeling
but generally unsure
where to place it

so it lands
in a throat
hides behind
a shoulder blade
cuts through the
softness below
the belly
button

unsure where to
categorize
alphabetize
energize
feeling lands
where we least
expect

in the space
between this
and that
on the coffee
table below
the book
of salvador
dali

so much
is accomplished
in stillness

“joke poem about a black bear” by Sasha at her desk


Tuesday January 31, 2017
3:08pm
5 minutes
Upstream
Mary Oliver


‘It’s sunny today,
so that’s something’
Adam says, stroking his beard
as if he might be a wizard.

‘Yes. It is something,” I
respond, furrowing my eyebrows,
lifting my face
towards the sky.

Adam buys me an orange
from Florida and I wonder
about the politics of the
farmer, their tan lines,
their birth order.

Sitting by the ocean
at sunset, the buzz of
Granville Market behind
us, seagulls begging for
scraps of hotdogs from
children dressed in sweaters.

Sometimes
I long for a simpler time
when my heart didn’t live
in my throat.

“Don’t carry it all” by Sasha at JJ Bean on Cambie


Monday January 23, 2017 at JJ Bean
3:39pm
5 minutes
From Dear Sugar Radio: Writer’s Resist

Put it down here
at my feet where the earth
is soft put it down
here where the crocus will
bloom come April
Put all your worries
down before you sleep
or else you’ll wake
like last night
in a pool of sweat
and tears calling
for God

They talk of faith
but I talk of birch
trees and whale bones

Put that world down
sweet one
it’s giving you
ulcers and rotten teeth
tumours and that
kind of sadness
that no word
has enough
consonants for

“First we marched” by Sasha at Matchstick on Fraser


Sunday January 22, 2017 at Matchstick
10:26am
5 minutes
From a tweet

First we marched and now we carry on
the song that our grandmother’s started

Daisy used to tell Layah and I
about meeting First Nations women at the Edmonton
bus depot on 105 Avenue

bringing her into the city
feeding her hamburger soup
giving her shampoo and
tampons
baby formula and
sweaters knit by the
Catholic Women’s League

Okay she never said anything about
tampons to me
but I imagine her giving a woman tampons
and that woman saying thank
you and brown eyes meeting brown eyes

Anne made dinner every night for her family
and she managed the money
and she made her own
her own money
trading stocks and investing
Anne never knew she was a radical
She was an
“unfulfilled woman”
She was never okay
with the shape of herself

“I don’t have any change” by Sasha on her couch


Monday January 16, 2017
11:03pm
5 minutes
Overheard on the 99

I want nothing more than to be a food writer.
To be paid to eat ridiculously delicious things
is some sort of heaven that I don’t seem to have
a ticket for. I try my luck at
buying my own dinner
and then writing about it
and sending it to that
cheap magazine you can find outside of
the dingy subway stations. They have the manners
to write me an email back,
“We have a food writer already, Maisie,
but best of luck with your future endeavours.”
It’s like somewhere between
buying my own avocado toast
and figuring out the adjectives best use
to describe hemp hearts
I got lost.

“Your grandfather” by Sasha in the basement at Szos and Jenny’s


Monday January 2, 2017
9:20am
5 minutes
Overheard at Cowichan Bay

Grandfather hands me a book bound with lightning
and maybe it’s because I’ve just turned old enough
to travel by train alone Or maybe it’s because I’ve
only now realized the importance of the remarkable moment.

The book shakes in my hands and I open it only when
I’m alone in my bedroom amongst baboons and posters
of the Jackson Five.

The first page shows how the earth was born and then
how the dinosaurs really became extinct and on the
third page I rest because every Wednesday should
include a nap.

“without a lot of fragmentation” by Sasha on her couch


Thursday December 29, 2016
9:47pm
5 minutes
Misery
Stephen King


How much can I get
for cheap
without a lot of filler
without a lot of
get my fuller
How much can I get
no longer
How much do I need
How much can I get
two for the price of
five fingers and toes
the grace of birth
and the dance of death
How much can I get
for a blow job and
a stick of gum
How much do I need
Just this
The warmth of a blanket
around my feet
Broth spitting on the stove
Just this
A blue sweatshirt with
a white elephant
My spirit animal
two dimensional across
my chest

“Welcome Home Party” by Sasha on her couch


Friday December 9, 2016
12:27am
5 minutes
from an e-mail

used to make signs that we’d stick on the yellow door with masking tape
“don’t use the kind that takes the paint off, girls!”
when did we stop being “girls”?
when did we stop making signs with bearded men and red-haired women?
when did we start counting days of the weeks in underwear rolled in the bottom of a backpack?
used to make signs for everyday stuff not just special occasions
used to make signs with crayons and magazine pieces and words i didn’t
really know the meaning of

“When we look up” by Sasha at her desk


Wednesday December 7, 2016
10:24am
5 minutes
An interview with Gloria Steinem

When we look up we see gulls soaring towards clouds painted grey.
When we look up we hear Christmas carols, turned up loud.
When we look up we see men hugging, patting each other on the back, hips tilted back so that there’s no way that belt buckles might touch, unlocking.
When you look up you hear voiceover times tables of all the times you were humiliated as a child being forced to say “eight times two is sixteen! Eight times three is twenty four!”
When we look up we have hope but it’s far away, it’s not right now, it’s in the New Year with a fresh calendar pinned to the wall with no pencil scratches or stickers on days when there are birthdays.
When I look up I sneeze because the sun is finally out, the sun is finally here.

“Could have walked by now” by Sasha at her desk


Sunday December 4, 2016
8:45pm
5 minutes
Overheard on Burrard street

Take my good word, you could’ve walked all the way home by now.
Take my advice and don’t ever turn your underwear inside out and wear it for a second day.
Take my hand and follow me down to toes in sand and tears in eyes and it’s okay, I promise, everything’s going to be okay.
Take thirty dollars out of the bank and walk through a neighbourhood that’s unfamiliar and buy yourself the first thing that you truly love. It doesn’t matter that you’re broke and should buy lettuce and a few cans of tuna instead.
Take me back to the place where we met and remind me where love grows.

“bare bones information” by Sasha at her desk


Wednesday November 30, 2016
9:44am
5 minutes
From a lesson plan

Calls me and leaves me a voicemail
she’s got big news she’s got crescent moons

I listen like I did when my father
read me Runaway Bunny

I missed her call on purpose
a glue on my lips a glue on my lips

I wait three days before calling back
“Hey, how are you? Sorry I’ve been so busy.”

I’m walking in the rain in a not-warm-enough jacket
I’m counting the November rotting underfoot

“I still honoured my vows” by Sasha in her bed


Tuesday November 29, 2016
11:02pm
5 minutes
Big Magic
Elizabeth Gilbert


I make a vow that I’ll do better
I do it often I do it daily
Curse of being born in this body
with this medallion of whiteness
of middle class-ness
of education
we’re just trying to be better
do better make better make something
I make a donation to Standing Rock
thirty dollars
I buy a ticket to a play that my friend wrote
twenty one dollars
I buy a bag of slivered almonds for granola
fourteen dollars

“now do I take you forever” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Thursday November 24, 2016
12:32pm
5 minutes
Weddings from the Heart
Daphne Rose Kingma


We’re talking forevers now which really we have
no right to do which really is all a big joke anyway

We’re talking hay bales and baby names
and barbecued chicken and first dance songs and

Will I even wear a white dress anyway

This institution getting a reboot on the terms
of interracial feminism progression but

what about the minivan and the braces and
the mortgage and the mutt

We’re talking forevers now and it getting
us high and making us squirm

“I look forward to a random day” by Sasha on her couch


Wednesday November 23, 2016
11:19pm
5 minutes
from a Facebook comment

I see a man’s face through the ice looking up
his mouth contorted in salt water scream

I am standing on the thick part but still
wonder about safety and falling through

Many women are gathered here
some men too We all wear blue ribbons

I look forward to the day when this is not
the headline and the currency and the

reason I can’t sleep.

“a supermoon in Taurus.” By Sasha in the bath


Sunday November 20, 2016
10:04pm
5 minutes
From chaninicholas.com

Thirteen in Peurto Vallarta walking
ahead my mother and sister keeping close

Men in Tommy Hilfiger T-shirts hiss and growl
first taste of the power and the burden

Fish tacos on the beach salty hair
Sunburn like a bad weather forecast

At the hotel a man who works there
teaches me how to say “How are you?” in Spanish

He blushes and looks at his Nike’s when I ask it
I take my hair out of a ponytail

“sky turned red then erased” by Sasha on her couch


Thursday November 17, 2016
11:23pm
5 minutes
Penknife
Ellie Sawatsky


Walls thin as butterfly wings I know that your ear is there
High on the sky turning red with the possibility
of midnight I know that your ear is there
pressed on the monarch tissue paper
Sigh lifts above the ceiling
lifts us up the only division between us is us
the only difference between us is this
The chrysalis shed
The womb bare
The holy
water falling over fingertips

College kids smoke joints outside the window
leave rolling papers on the sill
A queen bee makes a hive around the rebellion
the sex the nicotine the so in love
so in love
I am the queen bee and you are bringing me gifts

“she honestly does not have those impulses” by Sasha on the ferry heading home


Wednesday November 16, 2016
6:35pm
5 minutes
Dear Sugar Radio


I found the sweet spot in a twin bed in my father’s house
second floor of the Victorian brick house on the tree-lined street
Lying on my back thinking thinking seeing thinking wishing panting
parting spreading leaking oh oh say it yes sweet sweet sweet
There was not shame on the futon on the floor of the basement
of my mother’s house
first love like liquid gold between my legs
first love passion and clumsy hands and is it supposed to feel like
this?
I see these young ones
pups
I see these crying mothers
for their daughters in crop tops with eyes the basins of longing
Fill me up
Fill me up

“what was that process like?” By Sasha at her desk


Sunday November 13, 2016
8:27pm
5 minutes
From an interview question

I keep seeing pictures of our future and your
brows are furrowed “So here we are”
I can’t see everything in focus
I see windchimes and mushrooms and candle wax
Maybe you’re calling the new me the one with
more patience and breath that smells like artichokes
Maybe you’re thinking about
the past Now
Soon all this will be forgotten from our minds
but remembered by the elephant hearts
that I cradle like unborn daughters
dreaming in their soft sleep
dreaming this future into Now

“Are we lost?” By Sasha at her desk


Thursday November 10, 2016
5:53pm
5 minutes
Overheard on the 84

You get a notice in your e-mail on Saturday. You don’t remember when they started delivering e-mails on Saturdays, but you don’t remember many of the details these days. It’s all tiring. The e-mail pings on your watch and you check it by pushing the red button. Siri’s voice reads,

“Hello. You are receiving this message because your presence is required at Main Camp on Monday, November twenty first. Please report to Sergeant Marryweather by 9AM. Bring your grey suit. Wear boots.”

You don’t walk the dog, instead, you lie on the couch and scroll though ads for movies coming soon. You’ve heard about messages like this. You never thought you’d get one.

“the world is ending” by Sasha at JJ Bean


Wednesday November 9, 2016 at JJ Bean on Cambie
2:06pm
5 minutes
From a tweet


I have cried all the cries
and all the fears
endless rivers of grief
a chasm in my chest the size of an orange man

I have raged on my bed
and my body
and my love
I have lost hope

A violent collision of
faith and doubt
I’ll go listen to music tonight
eat a muffin
write my daily write

A sadness has descended
that I haven’t known

The privilege of self reflection
of whiteness
of able body
cis-gender

The privilege of a bed to rage
a body to move
a love to hold and weep and hold
six dollars for an americano and
a peach oatmeal muffin

On my walk here
I searched the eyes of people I passed
in a way that I don’t usually
with a tenderness I have been conditioned
to withhold
I searched the eyes of a pregnant woman
wearing purple
and grey
I smile

“We talk all about our relationship” by Sasha at her desk


Sunday November 6, 2016
8:50pm
5 minutes
Dear Sugar Radio

We talk all about our relationship until our tongues are heavy
and our hearts are downward dogging stretching
tailbones to the stars
You notice the curl of a lip too quick
the taste of salt on a throat kept tight tight
Fireflies lead us outside and we follow them
into the forest where the dreams of six months from now
call us quietly
by our names
We strip off our clothes and it’s cold but
we don’t mind
I don’t mind
We jump into the water and it’s so cold it’s hot
Takes breath like you do like I do
Takes courage
this
this
Early nights in the fall as the temperature drops

“LYING TO TELL THE TRUTH” by Sasha at Pascoe Rd.


Thursday October 20, 2016
12:49am
5 minutes
From a workshop description
Johnny MacRae


I know you’re scared shitless
crapping oceans every day eating saltine’s like
your life depends on it
(your life does depend on it)
I know that the voices in your head keep
you up at all hours
counting blessings counting sheep counting the second hand
ticking at the speed of waiting
I know you paint red and blue on your face
warrior mask smudging orange and yellow on the darkest days
I know you’ve been pulling out your eyelashes again
your eyelids naked as a newborn
naked as a piglet

“whenever I decide to finally” by Sasha on her couch


Sunday October 16, 2016
10:56pm
5 minutes
From A Pinterest board

Whenever I decide to repent my sins
it will
smell like spring.
Damp earth
pine needles
baby’s breath
You’ll light a bonfire on the beach.
The gulls will gather.
I’ll write down each of them
my sins
on bark and newspaper
and I’ll burn them
one by one.
Thank you for your patience
as I purge
and dance
as I sweat
and scream.

“slack jawed” by Sasha in the bath


Thursday October 12, 2016
11:09pm
5 minutes
From an email

I wasn’t used to the attention
an excuse
okay
a discretion
I did fifteen things I regret
okay
starting and ending with
you
Tears fall onto a notebook page
a and e and s swell and bleed
a womb away my sister
nurses the next generation
It’s late there
My sorry will never be
enough
for the slack jaw
fuck
on the couch
in the country
My regrets bite my tongue
Assault my dreams
night after night
season after fall
driving cars off cliffs
walking topless into a family reunion
in Florida

“the authors of our lives” by Sasha at her desk


Monday October 10, 2016
4:44pm
5 minutes
The Rising Strong Manifesto
Brene Brown


I’m sorry for my chin hairs – – –
my legs \\ my armpits \/
my belly >
“my” is pejorative
none of these parts are mine
TRUMP CARD
I laugh because the cry is too big for my one bedroom apartment

I’m sorry for the unpalatable opinions
on the table between us
swirling squash and shit and sex and
squash

My dreams of motherhood don’t betray my dreams
of taking over the world
with stories of chin hairs
legs armpits bellies

Shred the TRUMP cards and recycle them
Maybe they will end up
paper that you’ll write me a letter on

“If you see something suspicious or unusual” by Sasha at her desk


Saturday October 8, 2016
7:14am
5 minutes
From the Amtrak safety booklet

Sweat collects in the small of my back and
I’m more confident than I’ve ever been ever
dared to be
I french kiss
a currency
I learn the rules too early
too late
Eye contact pact to meet in the bathroom
Eye contact pact you’ll buy me a vodka water
Eye contact here
then here
Maggie does lines of blow off a cock
I’m not sure about much
Riding old bikes without helmets
or enough air in the tires

“spread the word” by Sasha at the table


Monday July 11, 2016
8:25pm
5 minutes
From an e-mail

This heat has got you thinking all crazy this heat
has got your thinking like stalactites and radio
waves bottom of the swimming pool bottom of the
forest floor crunch crunch
tread
crunch tread tread
treading water til you land on something familiar but your
feet don’t know the difference or do
they or do they?

Thirty six degrees and you’re wanting
wanting for something sweet salty sweaty
bitterness turns to calcium turns to
a face you recognize
but can’t name

“The circle, not the line.” By Sasha in the Kiva


Thursday June 30, 2016
11:35pm
5 minutes
The Axeman
Shaun Cunningham


They carve out my heart and gasp and shudder and
someone faints with a small sigh that only
my heart can hear
“It’s shaped like a like a like a like a
it’s shaped like a hexagon…”
They don’t let me hold it or see it or
kiss it they take it away to a room on
the other side of the place
I wonder when I’ll get it back
I wonder when I’ll see it again
Will I see it again?
“It’s shaped like a like a like a like a
it’s shaped like a hexagon…”
The doctor wore white but my blood was all
over him and it was purple and blue
magenta and violet
azure lavender

“Ready to rock?” by Sasha on her couch


Friday May 27, 2016
10:01pm
5 minutes
People Magazine
March 2016


Holding Grandma’s paper skin hand
A priest talks about forgiveness
Jesus
Bread
Her fingers are long
Knuckles like burls
I lean in close to smell her
Baby powder and drugstore perfume
Make up that is long expired
She doesn’t stand to sing anymore
On her perch
The Pew
Queen Bird

“flat-out rejected” by Sasha on her porch


Tuesday May 10, 2016
9:19pm
5 minutes
http://howlround.com/submitting-like-a-man-we-have-a-winner

There you are pride in
your hands like a dead sparrow
crashed into too many windows
“Rejection tastes like pennies” you say
And I know you to be right about tastes
and books and the best bike
routes downtown
I coo you words of encouragement
“The only place to go is up!” but you
don’t believe me

“No I’m glad you did.” By Sasha at her kitchen table


Wednesday, April 6, 2016
11:31pm
5 minutes
From a text

There’s a pile of laundry on the table and no one’s sure why
No one moves it because no one’s sure if it’s safe to touch
Toast crumbs and pizza crust bits and a smear of ranch dressing
The pile of laundry is an unintentional cotton centrepiece
Yellow and green and white and black

After awhile
At least twenty one days
It almost looks beautiful
A few drops of candle wax
A stain of wine and tea and balsamic vinegar

“Whose stuff is that?” You finally ask
After being out late and eating too much ramen and spicy chocolate
“No idea…” I say, drinking down a mouthful of too hot tea
“Why haven’t you moved it?” You say laying down on the blue concrete of the kitchen floor
“Why haven’t you?”

Then it’s a different story
A protest
A digging of the heels into mushy ground
Then it’s a commitment
A too-tight ring around a too-fleshy finger

Seven years later
The pile of clothes covered in dust
You’ve been gone since last Winter
And everytime time I see it I hate you and I love you
At the same time

“round their throats” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Friday, March 25, 2016
10:36pm
5 minutes
From lyrics in a song

She keeps her secret safe around her throat a
red ribbon tied in a bow the edges fraying the
fray undoing the past and what is heavy there.
She keeps her secret safe drinking beer with
breakfast drinking coffee with lunch drinking
no water only brown liquids to keep the pain
down below the sludge. She keeps her secret
safe by only calling him on his birthday and
making sure it’s at a time he won’t pick up.

“Happy birthday, Owen. Hope you’re well.”

Dial tone like the drone note of a prayer she
won’t do this again. This is the last time.
She keeps her secret safe until it doesn’t
want safety. It wants air it wants light prisms.

“a couple annual holidays” by Sasha on her couch


Friday, March 4, 2016
11:04pm
5 minutes
From Sasha’s play

we meet at a purim
you’ve got a flower in your hair
i’ve got a scarf the colour of first day blood
when i see you i feel i’ve known you for six thousand years
eye to eye a handshake means nothing in a moment
and yet when we do i feel a current of energy up my arm
down my leg into every cell into every crevice
i am shy when i ask for your phone number
shaking like the leaves
“let’s hang out,” i make it sound more casual than i feel

“to be euthanized” by Sasha at Culprit Coffee


Friday February 19, 2016 at Culprit Coffee
4:37pm
5 minutes
Vancouver Metro
Thursday February 18, 2016


the politics are closing in
closing up closing down
shut in shut up shut
down
the voices are loud again
trumpet blares and speaker flares
bass line like boot stomp
bass line like poison

the aftertaste of something you
didn’t mean
said too loud
too sweet
the stink of a lie
heavy on handmade lips
heavy on furrowed brow
laughlines like fingerprints
smudged in ink
in soot
here’s my identity baby

your thoughts
curling smoke around the hope
for something more
you are deserving of all
that goodness
you are
your mother
holding your hair back
holding her hair back
squatted over the porcelain tea cup
shut up shut down
bass line like boot stomp

“She said my mistakes made her feel confused” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Sunday February 14, 2016
11:21pm
5 minutes
Dear Mr. You
Mary-Louise Parker


How to shake hands with the first ever Woman President
(who just happens to have long peach coloured fingernails and three very large rings on)

Shake her hand like she’s any other woman.
She is, in fact, an-other woman.
She too uses tampons.
She forgets to pluck a stray chin hair.
She sometimes smokes when she’s drunk.

She too wonders about frizz, and sexism, and avocado in smoothies.

Shake her hand like you mean it.
Like through your palms you’re able to transmit all of your heart’s yearnings.
Who knows?
Maybe you can.


Shake her hand and look her in the eye.
No one likes a watcher – you know the kinda person who looks at the hand their shaking.
There’s too much intimacy there,
Especially for a first meeting.

Shake her hand with power and attention to how her
particular hand wants to be shaken.
Don’t project your own desires on to her.
You’ll only learn her shake style a few shakes in.

 

“imagining our future.” By Sasha at the UBC Learning Exchange


Wednesday February 10, 2016
7:08pm
5 minutes
CBC.ca/books

I imagine our future as orchids
as shooting stars
as bits of sand when
under a microscope
the whole universe

I imagine our future
can’t help myself
I’m a dream junkie
arm bruised with pockmarks of
maybe and when

I imagine our future ceilings
catching wishes in open laughter mouths
I imagine our future claw foot tub
warm water swirling down the memory drain
I imagine our future babies
All cheeks and nerve

“awaken in the morning’s hush” by Sasha at the Diamond Centre


Tuesday February 2, 2016
4:18pm
5 minutes
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye


I awaken in the hush of morning
Sleep stretched like a thin veil across the sky
Tiptoe out of the bedroom
so as not to wake you
so as not to break the spell of sensuous silence
The wood is cold under my feet
Nipples harden
Are the blinds down?
Will a neighbour catch a glimpse?
Fill the kettle with water
Fill the glass with water
Slice into the acidic flesh of the lemon
Watch as the juice mixes
Watch as the water boils
Watch as dawn becomes day

“Secret Sundays” by Sasha on her couch


Thursday January 28, 2016
11:55pm
5 minutes
A Mission Kitsilano business card

It’s a secret that on the Sundays the salsa dancing starts
It’s a secret that with that comes horses and carts
It’s a secret that everyone whose no one is there
It’s a secret that those that don’t know just can’t care

It’s a secret til somebody says something out loud
And the secret’s no longer dressed in a shroud
It’s a secret to someone else tells all of Tulsa
It’s a secret that on Sundays we will dance the salsa

“the globally inspired” by Sasha on her couch


Sunday January 24, 2016
10:52pm
5 minutes
From the front of a flyer

Full moon brings out the wild
the smell of mushrooms and old leaves
the rabbit ear soft longing for comfort and
change no difference there just the swell of the waves and
the fingers in the sand

If I could I would binge watch you
and your evolution
Every moment a new stop motion picture
slow exposure
A few sun blasts

“Closed now” by Sasha at JJ Bean


Monday, December 14, 2015
7:26pm at JJ Bean Main St.
5 minutes
From a Google search

mountains catching clouds like venus fly traps
mouths open robin red breast feeding worms from
the end of the line
crows fly to richmond to roost every night
the whole murder making the sky black
people take photos on their phones and look at them
later bringing the wild in
under the covers
we hold hands
fingers intwined like lives
like rope
like claws

“in response to” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Wednesday November 11, 2015
6:11pm
5 minutes
From Performing Site Specific Theatre
Ed. Anna Birch and Joanne Tompkins


my mother’s mother had a strong jaw
my mother has a strong jaw
i have a
strong jaw
women like foothills
hips that lead to knowing
women like water
shoulders that feel the weight

my mother’s mother
all interruption
all control
all strength
all smoke
all ash
all sun
all dust
all breath
all power
all shame
all grace
all cherry tree
all candle wax
all salt
all curve
all language

my mother’s mother
a legacy of cabbage rolls
chocolate worship
picked the scabs on her arms until she bled
i pick the scab on my arm until i bleed
the story spins a web of then and now
my future daughter
my mother’s mother
my mother
my sister
the story spins a dreidel
marking roots
marking laugh lines
marking tear tracks
marking what’s good
what’s bad
the space between

“with the theme of fear” by Sasha at the table at Pascoe Rd.


Monday November 9, 2015
1:17pm
5 minutes
ionmagazine.ca

The night she dies I get a text from a bartender
I sometimes fuck
I wash my
face I get on my
bicycle and I go to
his house
On the way
Somewhere east of Dupont
My chain falls off
I can’t stop the tears
Can’t stop the oil from getting
on my dress
I arrive too close to morning
too far from my father
He lights a joint and the promise
I made to myself not to tell him
Undoes like the clasp of my bra
Naked I’m a puddle of chipped nail polish and
missing
He’s a father so he knows
how to soothe
He rubs my back until I’m hiccups and
when we fuck he’s gentle
he knows just how to look me
in the eye
I leave before I can feel grosser before
I can taste the tinniness of shame
My tongue heavy in my mouth I sing
under my breath
Up the hill on the way
home