“Roads here are nuts.” By Julia on her couch

Thursday March 7, 2019
8:20pm
5 minutes
From a text message

Earlier today the damn weather forecast never said nothin’ about no snow. No rain in there neither and somehow we had both, now didn’t we. Nobody spectin’ a downfall or downpour or whatever. Nobody out dressed thinkin’ it’s back to winter out here. Not after all them sunny days we got. We was laughin’ cuz Spring was tryna tell us it was ready. Yesterday I saw all them robins scurryin’ about too so what’s up with that! It got me real angry when the man opened the door for me this mornin’, saw the skies and said, “Just miserable. And you haven’t got an umbrella?” Wanted to punch his rich little mouth right offa him. I said, “It’s snowin.’” with a hook in my voice that told him I was it was feeakin’ news to me too.

“she will not live long.” By Sasha at her desk

Wednesday, April 18, 2018
5:02pm
5 minutes
june 20th
Lucille Clifton

she will not live long
this bloom rising ripe on the table
amidst rose quartz and stone

she will fall
as we all do
as you have
as i will
she will go back to the earth
as we all do

yellow petals
sister to rose
sister to the magnolia tree
across the street
exploding confidence and
beauty

i change her water
every other day
more than i floss
more than i call my mother

“She warned me, ‘Have nothing to lose.’” by Julia at her desk

Thursday April 5, 2018
8:25pm
5 minutes
Among Women
Marie Ponsot

tucked a daisy in my jacket pocket and said “this is for a rainy day”
didn’t seem to mind that it might not last that long in denim like this
i forgot it was in there and went about my day
picked up apples from the market
peeled the sweet potatoes that were growing eyes
the night became a different world
me in my own skin and bones rustling about the tiny kitchen
she, i decided, blessing newborns and the dying with her sweet
the next morning i awoke to the sun burning the sky and drawing sweat
from my neck
the pillow was wet and the seagulls were loud
I did not bring an umbrella
and of course, as it happens here, out of the blue
it started to rain
i understood what ‘out of the blue’ meant for the first time
shoved my hands in my pockets to keep dry
and there it was, waiting for me
a wilting daisy, still more alive than me

“All winter we went on like that” by Julia at her desk


Saturday May 6, 2017
6:30pm
5 minutes
After Birth
Elisa Albert


It was a tough one with all the rain seeping into all my dry
I think it’s safe to say that something was trying to be planted
Something needed care enough to sprout

I used to dread cleaning my apartment when the grey outside made the inside feel dirty
Today I swept up a spider and saluted to her as she crawled away and into a safe place
The light painted my home in a newness that I’ve been waiting for
Everything on the shelves, a choice, a decision, an opinion
Spring has signed the contract, says she can take it from here
I cannot wish for something better than feeling home in the home I live in
I give thanks for the cupboards that hold every envelope, every light bulb

“There were times when nothing played back.” By Sasha on her porch


Wednesday April 25, 2017
4:14pm
5 minutes
What It Is
Lynda Barry


When I was younger I laughed
at the synchronicity of seasons
how the robin shows her cheeky
face in the hours
before the magnolias the camellias
the cherry blossoms

“Make space for your stories”
my almost husband smiles into my ear
He is referencing the leaning tower
of books on my bedside table
in my knapsack
on the coffee table
the earbuds in my ears while
I steam kale
walk to the market
chase away nightmares

“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.

“heated rivalry and the jealousy” by Sasha in the Fredrick Wood Theatre


Friday February 6, 2015
9:35pm
5 minutes
http://www.mtv.ca

Winter is coming
Don’t look so blue
Winter is coming
What you gonna do?

Warmer here but colder too, in the damp way.
In the down to your bones and souls way.
Winter is coming
Don’t look so blue
Winter is coming
What you gonna do?

The crows know how to stay warm.
They caw with full bird breath.
They caw the warmth from the inside out.
Winter is coming
Don’t look so blue
Winter is coming
What you gonna do?

Mama run me a bath and don’t let me out.
Don’t drain the water til it’s morning.
I won’t drown, I won’t fall asleep,
I’m thinking about the Spring.
I’m thinking about the Spring.
Winter is coming
Don’t look so blue
Winter is coming
What you gonna do?

“super true to who they are” by Julia at Katie’s flat in London


Monday December 8, 2014
1:16am
5 minutes
from an interview with Annabel Soutar

I have been telling myself for one whole year that I am good and worthy and beautiful and enough. My life coach told me I should recite these things and try to remind myself that I actually believe them. I started trying to believe them one morning in April of last year because it was the spring or something and things seemed like they were being reborn. I wanted to be reborn. I didn’t want to hate myself anymore. I didn’t want to wish I was born of a different woman and therefore raised by one, believing I was just different and not the me I actually was. The process was a long one. I was not the me I actually was or wanted to be, but the me I had no choice in being. The dead me with crispy hair. The forgotten me with only 5 friends at my funeral. I had a lot of visions that I would never wake up. So I went to her and told her with my blood: HELP.

“saving me right now” by Sasha in her garden


Tuesday June 10, 2014
12:05pm
5 minutes
a text message

I had with breasts and awkward self-awareness and really really long hair.
I went to the Body Shop and got some cover-up, I think my Mom might’ve even taken me.
We matched it to my skin tone but… not really. Because nothing is the color of my skin, only my skin is…
Cover up what’s imperfect, what’s raised and red and angry. Accentuate what’s already there…
“Are you wearing contacts?”
“Your eyes are your best attribute…”
“Look at those eyes!”
“Like a husky…”
Line the line, spread black, curl and colour and wipe and HERE I AM! Do you love me now?
Your voice in my head is saving me right now.
Your voice (in my head) says,
“The robin in the garden doesn’t care about the redness of her chest”.

“that they might have life” by Sasha at her desk


Thursday April 17, 2014
4:02pm
5 minutes
John 10:10

This is the time of year for fiddleheads
Or it should be
If winter would finally melt away once and for all
This is the time that the fiddleheads grow on the banks of the river
Peeking through the moist ground
I’ve heard that if you close your eyes and listen
You can hear the earth opening
They can grow four inches in a day
Fiddleheads taste like asparagus’ illusive cousin
Related distantly to mushrooms
And broccoli
They are my mother’s favourite
She used to steam them
Half an inch of water in the bottom of the pot
Just a few minutes
They should still crunch
She’d spoon a bit of butter
A sprinkle of salt
Fiddleheads are coming
There are no fiddlehead farms
Really
Just foragers who find them
And sell them
Who can make a pretty penny
On those early spring days
When we so crave something from the earth
Close by to where we life

“Original Spring Source” By Julia on the 504 going east


Saturday January 25, 2014
4:31pm
5 minutes
from a Mountain Valley Sparking Water bottle

There's a little well, a fresh water spring that is about 8 minutes away from their house. It's the most beautiful place on earth. It is safe there. It is calm. It makes all the bad things seem to float away or disappear or turn into good things so they're not bad anymore. The soft rippling of the water, the purest form of ecstasy that I know, the clear stream of stress rolling down the tree stumps and off of the mountain side. That's where I find myself in moments like these. When the weather aches all my bones and weighs heavy on my mind. When the morning light shines through my window reminding me of all the things I have to fix or make or do or forgive. When your heart breaks from an unkind word I've said, or if coincidentally you believed that your breath was too loud for your brain that day. I go to the water. I go to the spring. I go to Italy and wait for you there.

“Never seen by waking eyes.” by Sasha on her living room floor


Tuesday, April 16, 2013
12:23am
5 minutes
A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky
Lewis Carroll


The sky was grey, heavy, carrying the weight of Spring, of all that’s coming. The ground was soft, moist, just under the surface all the seeds whispering their “good mornings”. The trees were budding, but you had to really look, tiny pokes of green smiling “almost”. The train lurched, stopped and starting as they do, the people swaying, holding onto the poles, stealing glances at strangers they think they know. The bananas in the bowl were more spotted then the day before, perhaps desiring to be turned into bread, or a smoothie, over the point of being peeled and eaten. The mug teetered near the edge of the table, green paisley, given as a gift, found at a garage sale, separated from it’s twins, it’s sisters, many years ago.

“During the spring” by Sasha at her desk


Tuesday, January 1, 2013
9:22pm
5 minutes
the 2012 Ontario Parks Guide

During the spring, when the caterpillars begin their astonishing transformation from larvae to butterfly, my brother locks himself in his basement apartment with his diabetic tabby-cat, William. He’ll emerge in the Fall, once mornings are chillier again, and he will look far worse for wear. His skin will be jaundice and patchy and his beard will be untrimmed and scraggly. The whites of his eyes will be tinted with grey. Every year it reminds me how much the sun gives us – not just the miracle of rising and setting every day – but every sort of colour. Flora and fauna, alike, rejoice in the suns brilliance. The chrysalis, the magical cocoon, holds unbelievably promise, yes? I’ve learned to regard my brother as such, although, at the end of the warmer months, he’s hardly a monarch. His cocooning is due to debilitating pollen allergies that even the strongest over the counter pharmaceutical can’t treat.

“During the spring” by Julia on her couch


Tuesday, January 1, 2013
9:28pm
5 minutes
the 2012 Ontario Parks Guide

Ahh when the new breeze flows, when the air is fresh and white, when the yesterday’s tears take flight.
That’s when.
That’s when the new nose knows, when the day is longer than night, when the yesterday’s fears are slight.
We dream, like the humming bird collecting around a flower bush. We hold our tongues and curse less.
We hold each other’s hands and hurt less.
We hold each other’s hearts and LEARN more. More and more and more and more.
Ahh! When the giant escape presents itself to the wind. It’s lovely at this time of year.
During spring.
During the newness of it all and of it none. How wonderful to live in the time when grass is green and water is abundant.
When the new ideas show, when the sky is pure and light, when the yesterday’s jeers are not our plight.
THAT’S WHEN.
That’s when the new bodies pose, when the hope is whole and bright, when the yesterday’s sheers cut the lines off right.
That’s when.
Ahh, that’s when.
When spring grows. We will be new and good again.
That’s when.