Monday August 21, 2017
from an email
My head wants to cry and my eyes won’t let it happen. The woman beside me smells like cupcakes. The light is too bright, the windows are too open, and the woman beside me who smells like cupcakes is describing the dream she had about the big house and the sunroom. I do not picture big comfy chairs where my skin can sink. I see a pool warm enough for these cold August nights. I see a kiss on the temples where the pain likes to sit. The woman beside me who smells like cupcakes is gone and I am thinking about her dirty skirt and how terry cloth clothing always feels like the wrong kind of summer.
My head wants to pour out. Wants my eyes to get a bath. Maybe that’s what it will feel like from now on. Maybe that’s what happens after you stare directly at the sun taking the only break she ever gets.
Thursday March 16, 2017
Age Of Bronze Betrayal
Hold me like the sun is going down for the last time–
like the nights are long
like the mornings are extinct.
Keep me alive under a dead moon–
under a baren sky
under a hurt wing.
With one hundred hands you will know enough
how to close the door without waking me
how to prepare a tea without asking me
how to teach my skin what it’s worth.
With one hundred hands can you memorize my scars–
how the thick one reeks of curiosity,
how the raised one is a reward for the brave?
Sunday February 19, 2017
If it maybes then it shouldn’t
If it musts then maybe it should
I must do a lot of things
like the octopus must
like the sun
I must love you when it strikes me
I must see you when I do not want to be seen
Rain must live here
Ocean must roar sometimes
I maybe shouldn’t need to remind myself
like this, on text and tablet
And still I must remind myself because I maybe need you
I must need you
you must need me
if the sun must
Sunday February 5, 2017
Overheard at Quebec and west Broadway
I’ve been drawing daily self portraits
the mirror’s been lying again and
besides I want
to document my waxing and waning.
Yesterday I had a sun face
and my teeth were wide as open arms.
I don’t know anything about poetry
except that it feels like the only
I was never good at my time’s tables
always needed to count on my fingers
under my desk.
Today I’m a small black dot.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
overheard on the street
compare her to the sky and she’ll melt before your eyes
with a softness in her curl
a smile unbeknownst to her
Draw her like the sea and she’ll grow until she’s free
with a calmness in her song
wisdom there all along
Dance her like the sun and she’ll be your warmest one
with a lightness in her face
shining in the world’s embrace
Love her like the night and she’ll always hold you tight
with a mystery in her touch
radiant gold-speckled hush
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
I’ve seen the sun, he was locked away, hiding.
I whispered to him often, reminding him to take his time.
I said hello to him every morning, and I bowed my head down deep.
He didn’t want to come out.
He didn’t want to be my guide.
Sometimes facing the day is hard for everyone.
But he was there and I could tell that he needed to set himself free.
I knew because I had lived that way before.
I knew because revealing feels bad before it feels good.
I knew because in the shadows no one can see your smile, or the one you think you’re wearing.
Then after all my meditations and salutations and exaltations, I asked him quietly if I should go.
I leaned in close to catch it: he didn’t want to be left alone.
Sunday, August 2, 2015
Jonette had her long chestnut waves draping down her body so only her breasts were perfectly covered. She looked like a pre raphaelite painting. She looked like she had just stolen the ease of the sun. She was laying across the couch as if she just always did this. She could have had a book, or a magazine. She could have had a bowl of angel hair pasta dripping in olive oil and parmigiana.
Thursday May 28, 2015
Overheard at Lansdowne Station
We say our work is nothing more than what it is
Be here now
Bask in the sunlight
When the mud’s in season
Quartz on the soles of our shoes
Calypso on the radio
Deep in work
We still get up and dance
The mint is taking over the whole garden
We add it to breakfast, lunch and dinner
You make the bed this morning
Tucking a wish under my pillow
We finally start to plan our wedding
Peonies and bare feet
Offering howls of love and future
to the August moon
Wednesday May 27, 2015
The animals leave the shores
They pack their things and go
To where nobody knows
But they follow the pull
And when the night falls down
And blankets the day
Wraps it up in a starry shield
Protects it from going away
With the little ones in the armpit of the elders’
With the little ones curled up tight in the heart of the pack
They don’t hold back
From giving them everything that they need
The animals they move along
Trying to chase the sun
Don’t expect anything from anyone
They know they’ll soon be done
documented in the flesh of the earth
are paintings Mother Nature hangs up in her living room
Thursday May 21, 2015
And happiness is a sailing ship
the ocean strong
the wind fair
gliding across the water
a beacon of hope
a sign of peace
we all tilt our strained chins to the earth
and we sigh
that’s the final taste
that’s the summer sun warming up the frigid ground
And dessert is an apricot tart
the filling sweet
the pastry light
being passed around the after party
a moment of indulgence
a gesture of great care
we all throw our anchored heads back against the sofa
and we laugh
Saturday March 14, 2015 at the Dufferin/St. Clair Public Library
The Midwich Cuckoos
Caught her staring at me from underneath her sunhat. She was trying to catch glimpses of me incognito but I could see her there, plain as day, paying all her attention to me, avoiding everything about herself. In her slight defense, I would be sneaking glances at me too if I were her. From an objective perspective, I was talking about some fascinating things. People always seem to perk up when they hear the words “wild” “unbelievable” “mind-blowing” “freedom” “sensual” and “magic”. I didn’t want to shame her for watching. After all, it was my choice to leave my house and interact with other human beings. You can’t really blame someone for wanting to see how another person lives, talks, eats, breathes, shares, listens, reacts, lies, sinks, falls, achieves, succeeds. I was curious about her too; sad girl hiding behind her over-sized beach hat.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
from the Sun Wikipedia page
And we lay there in the grass, picking bushels of it out of the earth to sniff them, or to play them like flutes in the middle of the night. We waited for the sun to pop up again. We were waiting on its predictable rotation. The way we wait for a mother’s call, a friend’s best wishes when we’re near the death of someone close. We wait in the stillness gazing up at the sky, wishing for the night to retire gracefully to its bed so we could watch the warming of the sky take over. And we lay there in the grass, picking moments to kiss each others’ hands and necks and lips. We played those moments over and over again in our heads, recognizing the opportune times to touch one another not out of obligation but out of necessity. The orange was peeking up from beneath a distant hill as we wished.
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
TTC subway poster
Sometimes she becomes a sloth
Warm computer on her thighs
Cup of lukewarm tea on the windowsill behind her
And she travels
To places she might not get to before she wins the lottery
Mostly other women’s kitchens
Mostly women with children and nice cameras and gardens with fresh herbs
She’s embracing her sloth-dom
She used to fight it
With the “rush” epidemic
With the “yes” curse
She used to fight it
Today she rubs her sloth-body
She slow roasts tomatoes with garlic and rosemary
She let’s the darkness of the setting sun
Pull the brightness from the room where she sits
Where she’s sat
And she let’s the couch hold her
Like a friend
She let’s the screen take her
to islands and mountains and risotto and dragonfruit
Tuesday January 7, 2014
Let’s Ride Into The Sunset Together
I’ll be here with you
I’ll be standing by your side
Close enough that you can sense me
Far enough that your independence not be compromised
I’ll be there
Hands in my pockets
Heart tilting towards the Sun
High in the sky
Tickling the snow
Teasing the darkness of this time of year
I’ll be here when you’ve lost your directions to the place you were hoping to go.
I’ll be here with you
Closing my eyes when you don’t want to miss a second and refuse to blink
When you say,
I will always say,
Friday November 8, 2013
overheard from a customer at Sambuca Grill
I’ve been to the moon and back! The moon and BACK! I’ve settled for a million white lies painting my bedroom a colour I could stand looking at. I’ve been to the MOON. I’ve dreamed in shapes and numbers and it made sense to me. I’ve found my way through your brain while you’re sleeping and mumbling something about pink hot pants. I went there. I went there and I came back, and every time I come back to whatever back is, it’s different. So I’ve been to a lot of places. I’m from a lot of places, really. I’ve been to the sun and back! The SUN! THE SUN! I’ve filled my belly with worry and words and perfectly dewed grass blades in a park, in a backyard, in a green house. I’ve let my mind wander to find the key to the secret dwellings of the universe. I wouldn’t have gone by myself. I’ve taken good trips and bad trips and told everyone around me that I was going to stay there. They wouldn’t understand but they’d think it was a good idea if I seemed so hell-bent on it. I’ve been to hell and back, to heaven on earth, and heaven in heaven, which though similar, are very different things. I’ve been to here and there, and I’m from everywhere. From the moon, from the sun.
Friday May 3, 2013
I saw the polar bear swim the most beautiful breast-stroke
Eyelashes with gold sparkles
Purple high heels on his front paws
Flippers on his back
I decided to jump on his back
I had to hold on
I wasn’t afraid
I saw the red oak tree stretching
Trying to be taller
By Summer she’ll smile
I saw the dolphins doing Stand-up
They all bombed
But no one cared
The polar bear asked my name
I said it was ZOE
I wish it was ZOE
He believed me though
Why shouldn’t he
He called me by that simple angel name
He called me over and over until I remembered to answer
He asked where I’m from
“The ravine” I said
He looked unimpressed
He looked tired
“Let’s rest” I said
He swam us to shore
We dried ourselves in the sun
The sun like the moon but more outrageous
I hadn’t seen the polar bears guitar
It must’ve been borrowed
We sang Dylan, Springsteen and Joan Baez
Until the stars joined the sun
The sun said goodnight
The stars clapped along
Monday, April 29, 2013 at R Squared Cafe
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.