“I’m not sure” by Sasha at her desk

Monday May 28, 2018
10:56pm
5 minutes
From an email

I’m not sure what you mean when you say that you’re going to “quit life”. I know you don’t mean off yourself, that wouldn’t be your style. I know that I stopped going to see you after a few weeks – I hate hospitals! I’m sorry! I made it so many times in those first weeks and… I’m sorry. I really am. You need to get it together and recognize the progress that you’ve made, Eileen. One day at a time, you know?! You can’t expect yourself to recover overnight. You need to be patient. Look. I’ll come and see you a few times a week, I’ll bring a DVD, or some takeout, and we’ll hang out, okay? Maybe you’re lonely. That’s probably it.

“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

“Like when I need plumbing done” by Sasha on the couch at Bowmore


Friday, December 25, 2015
1:43pm
5 minutes
Revolution
Russell Brand


I’m waiting for the nurse to call my name and I swear to God if I wasn’t wearing a hospital gown I would’ve bolted. I’m looking at a woman with an IV drip and then I’m looking at the guy coughing up a lung and then I’m looking at all the vacant faces who mirror mine. Waiting. “Franny Vince?” It’s a question like a roll call, like, when the teacher would take attendance before we sang the anthem. “Oh Canada, our home and native land!” I’m not trying to be funny, even, I’m just, like, I’m scared shitless. I’m scared shitless.

“Here!”

“Right this way.”

“Nice Santa Claus brooch.”

“My grandson made it.”

“He’s really good.”

“Thanks.”

“You dye your hair?”

“Yes…”

“What brand?”

“My sister does it.”

“believe it or not” by Sasha at the kitchen table in Horseshoe Bay


Tuesday May 19, 2015
10:49pm
5 minutes
A Ripley’s bus ad

A machine beeps. It attaches to your arm. You’re sleeping, snoring softly. One hand rests on your belly. Up and down, up and down. May, the nurse on shift comes in and checks your vitals. I’m halfway through my book. Every few minutes someone new is wheeled in, or out. Some have their eyes half closed, in between this world and another one. Some crank their heads around, talking with the orderlies. Most look like baby squirrels – new, ruffled hair, vulnerable. You tell me to kiss you and I do. You taste like anesthetic and sleep.

“No, that was so wide!” by Julia at Grand beach


Saturday, July 19, 2014
5:28pm
5 minutes
overheard a Grand Beach


So those two were shooting a soccer ball, right? Right at us, no less. But we weren’t worried, obviously, cause they were kids, you know? Just two little rug rats trying to have fun. But thennnnnn, I’m telling you, it all got weird. Cause Madelyn is laying beside me and she has no idea what could happen, and suddenly, without warning, that damn soccer ball comes flying right at us. Right at Maddy! And Mad’s asleep cause that woman can sleep through a tsunami, knock on wood. She has no idea it’s coming, but I know she’s still sensitive from that jaw surgery she just had. Okay, okay, you got me, it was still sensitive because of the lip injections she had over the weekend. She was trying not to tell anyone about it because she was worried people would start calling her names or saying she was fake. You know how many women get lip injections? More than you would even know, and you wouldn’t even know this one if I didn’t open up my big ass mouth just to tell you my wife’s little secrets. Anyway! So I dive right?

“in any other brain” by Sasha on the subway going West


Sunday, January 27, 2013
5:57pm
5 minutes
Scientific American February 2013

I couldn’t believe that I was holding your brain in my hand. I laughed. Then, I threw up. Not on the brain, on the floor, a little on my new Doc Martins. You’d asked me to take your negative thoughts that were bringing you down, down, down, into the mud of your past. It didn’t matter to you that I’d only completed two weeks of residency at Mount Sinai. I performed a lobotomy in the foyer of your condo building because neither of us wanted to clean up the mess. We’d leave it to the cleaning people who come in and do the floors every week. You died pretty quick. I mean, we didn’t have IV’s or the right instruments, or anything surgical at all. There was no nurse. At one point the concierge came over and asked if everything was okay. I paused, looked him in the eye, and said, “Yes!” perhaps a bit too confidently. Your brain was heavier than I thought it might be, a solid ten pounds, for sure. I lifted it high above my head.