Sunday August 27, 2017
I found a home on a shape shifting cloud
hung up my dreams
put away my human skin
You could say that this one is mine now
here all the time
even the angels know my name
When I look down I can see it all
The places I used to burrow into my own flesh
trying to find a tunnel to an alternate reality
the shops I stole from
Candy, jackets, a single tampon
the secret leafy groves where I asked for forgiveness
And without warning I was shooting upward
my body buoyed by the possibility of knowing something sweet
Friday March 31, 2017
Women Who Run With the Wolves
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
In the forest
you finally find
the rhythm of your breath
Old growth and
It’s where you go when
It’s where your truest
Your breath isn’t what you
imagined it would be
It’s early and you’ve
been here since
since before the
first glow of morning
Your wild nature
greets this day
meant to be
Thursday May 5, 2016
1:50pm at Platform Seven
From the back of a pamphlet
the world is burning where all the oil lives
the grass is scorched and the trees with the treehouses are ashes
the houses with the photo albums and the calico kitten and
the painting from france from a great-grandmother
the jeopardy of prized possessions
an apocalypse of biblical proportions
true colours show when we’re in danger
fingers around a neck with “mine” over “yours”
cars driving on sidewalks to get ahead of other cars
the irony of politics
the irony of “how did we get here?”
dollar bill pilgrims drilling for gold
another headline another photograph another heart up in flames
Wednesday January 14, 2015
From the i heart huckabees DVD case
I’m writing secrets on leaves again. It’s less poetic then it sounds. I want them to dissolve into the mud in the backyard. Chuck is buried there, maybe the secrets will sink into him. That’s what makes it hard. To sell the house. That’s what makes it the hardest. Chuck and the secrets – all of them just back there and knowing that someone else might find the bones and the veins and the letter “S” or “X”. I’ve got this one down pat – the packing and the taping. But the leaving? The leaving is tough.
Thursday January 1, 2015
from an Old Mout Cider pint glass
The trees are doing their belly dancing.
The ferns tickle the moss and the moss tries it’s best not to laugh.
The moon (the light) reflects off the dewy downy forest floor.
You turn away from me and I tuck my toes into yours.
The wood stove hums ancient wisdom of fire and following through.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass of the sliding door.
My hair is longer than I realized, far down my back now.
You like it like this.
I look into my eyes, beyond my eyes and the forest waits and waits and waits.
You make a small sound that can only be described as a “coo”.
Thursday December 11, 2014
from a Nurofen tube ad
There are lights in the trees here. It’s so nice to be around a place that cares enough to put lights in their trees. Really makes you feel like you’ve found a spot worth staying. They assure you with their details. With their simple adjustment of the everyday. No snow yet! Got a bit lucky there. I know, I know, grow up, buy proper shoes. Boots! I know, I know. You would hate how cold it is without even having snow. My ratty sneaks will live to see another week!(or at least that’s what I’ve been praying for 😉 …sorry!)
I’m finally eating vegetables and drinking more water. The probiotics are helping but I still dream of salted caramel hot chocolate. Today I feel less alone than yesterday. Something in the air I guess. Trying to power through, like you said.
Miss and love.
Sunday October 5,2014
from a Facebook post
She chose her own name and she chose “Alibi”. She heard her father say it, something about his work, something about people with scars on their wrists and tired tongues. She chose her birthday and she chose today. Crisp, like a Gala apple. Blue sky like the birds soaring. She sang only in the forest because she found the trees to be the most receptive audience. She found the trees to listen with their whole being, not like people, not like us, arms crossed, teeth gripped like we’re afraid our own voice might escape.
Sunday Aug 3, 2014
from a Pembina Hwy sign
At Detour 23 I pull over and change Lenny’s diaper. He’s been wet since Detour 17 and screamed bloody murder for the last handful of miles. “What kinda mother are you?” Cody kept saying. “Go back there an’ do it! I’m driving!” Cody got a DUI last November. His favorite thing to do is drive. It’s made him a different kinda person… The kinda person you wouldn’t trust around a kitten or to make you breakfast. “He’s your kid!” Cody screamed. I will not get into this, I will not get into this, I will not get into this, I will not get into this… I close my eyes and imagine the Old Growth forests we’re driving towards. I imagine climbing into a tree, Lenny strapped to my bike, and living there for a very long time.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
An overheard conversation at Gabby’s
Saving the cat from the high tree in the front yard proved to be a real difficult feat. Ajax, the cat, was not afraid of heights or how to get down, but he was, I’m afraid to report, 100% dead when the rescuers made their way up to him. How did he lodge himself so high? How did he stay up there even while deceased? Amber was the most upset by it all…not so much that Ajax was dead, but because he didn’t even say goodbye. Why did he want to be so far away from her before he left for good? Amber stood beneath the tree before the rescuers brought him down, crying her big fat 5 year old tears and demanding an explanation. Ajax was never difficult when he kept himself on the ground; right where he belonged. Amber’s mother tried to explain that cats don’t like to have their loved ones around when they die. That was a nice thing Ajax did, she tried to say.