“they couldn’t handle you?” by Sasha on her balcony


Friday July 28, 2017
9:15pm
5 minutes
Overheard on Kits beach

I often feel I’m not keeping up
the dust bunnies collect in the corners again
the kitchen floor needs scrubbing again
I explain the rules of writing dialogue to children
but meanwhile break them in the quiet of the solitude

In fifty six days I will be married
this is not an accomplishment
or a humble brag
it is a fact
plain and simple
like my Diva cup sitting in a teacup
of boiling water on the counter

I often look at pictures of women
either pregnant or with
small cinnamon bun children
I wonder what it will be
to roll dough between my hands
and sift genes in my womb
“God willing” I say

Almost husband
my sweetheart
you put a Persian rug on the balcony
you leave plaque on the mirror
you fold my underwear into perfect shapes
you hold me tender and rough

“God willing”

“Like eagle rounding out the morning” by Julia at her desk


Monday May 4, 2015
10:57pm
5 minutes
from a poem by Joy Harjo

Claire has her big day today. She rubs fresh mint on all her pressure points before she leaves the house. No stress, she breathes, no stress today. Claire is wearing the blouse her oldest sister, Amelia, gave to her on her 30th birthday, the black pendant necklace her father rescued from the sewer, her favourite blazer with the three buttons, and the underwear her grandmother used to poke fun at, saying, these ones for special party nights, these ones keep separate from comfy big and bad ones. She had been meditating all morning, humming softly to herself attempting to prepare for the news and the meaning of something this important. She had hunted down the perfect bar for when she receives the news she was hoping for, but also the perfect bar in case she is denied the thing that she wants most in this world.

“Total Control” by Julia on Nicole’s couch


Thursday August 28, 2014
10:44pm
5 minutes
The bottle of curl keeper

I am making a list so I can check off everything. It’s nothing new because I’m the kind of person who likes to reiterate the things I do, consistently, without fail, because I’m really just a control freak. There, I said it. I know who I am. I’m this thing or that and it’s not a big deal so can everyone just get over everything already? As if I’m the only person in the entire world who wants to control everything all the time and have things go exactly her way. I’m not the only person, because I have friends who are similar because I want to make sure that there are no variables. I controlled my friendship circle to the point that I didn’t have any fun people left in the group, and certainly no comedy, and certainly no spontaneity. You can’t trust those laid back people who leave things to the last minute and throw caution to the wind. Those are the kind of people who wear the same pair of underwear two days in a row. I know this because I used to know those people and those people never got anything done ever. So. I am making a list now about the people I kicked out of my life and I would like to see if any of them have changed all the easy-going things on which I based my decision to cut ties, and identify if any, with those life changes, have the proper amount of fun still left in them because I could use some.

“SOARING” by Sasha on the Queen Streetcar going West


Monday December 9, 2013
11:04pm
5 minutes
from a Ryerson University subway ad

Soaring and falling are awfully similar, Maggie thinks to herself when she’s jumping. She stretches out her arms. The wind whips her braid. “Shit,” she thinks. “I should’ve called Ned.”

When she was five, Maggie got into her older brother, Malcolm’s permanent marker set. He’d gotten it from their grandmother who brought them various art supplies whenever she came to visit from Montreal. She decided that she’d have been better off if she was a boy. It seemed to her that Malcolm had it a whole lot easier. He didn’t have to wash his hair every day. He skateboarded to school. She drew glasses around her eyes, blue frames, just like Malcolm. He had a few pimples, so she dotted some pink onto her chin and forehead. The Housekeeper Svetlana found her before she got to her mop of curly, red hair. Svetlana promised not to tell Maggie’s parents so long as Maggie didn’t speak a peep about Svetlana doing the mopping in her underwear. Maggie and Svetlana pinky swore. When her father crept into her room to kiss her on the forehead, home from a late flight, he saw a small, usually pale face, red and raw. “What happened to Maggie?” he asked Malcolm, reading in his room. “She found my markers and went ape-shit,” Malcolm said, barely looking up.

“Where are you going?” by Julia at Sambuca Grill


Tuesday November 12, 2013 at Sambuca Grill
8:44pm
5 minutes
Overheard by Sasha on the Lansdowne bus

He was waiting in his underwear for her on the couch when she got home. She hadn’t given him a key yet, so he had to charm her neighbour into believing she had and he had just misplaced it while helping another old lady cross the street. It seemed like a likely story. When he let himself into her apartment, he washed all her dishes, then washed between his legs, put back on his underwear, a bow tie, and some coconut body lotion, and sat himself on the couch to surprise her. He was planning a big night. One that would start out as a joke and end up as a proposal. He wanted to “open her mouth with laughter and then shove the truth down” as he had heard his acting teacher say in second year. He agreed with that sentiment, and knew she would be disappointed with any other display of something that meaningful. He had heard her say millions of times that if anyone ever proposed to her with her family around, or in a public space, she would have no problem breaking up with him right then and there, on his knee or not. He knew that he would have to stand out and showcase that he had heard her all those times. He also wanted to make sure she wasn’t even slightly suspecting a ring, because that, he was sure, would ruin things. He had been waiting for a long time. She had failed to mention that she was flying to Montreal to visit her grandmother for her birthday that weekend.

“I dare say you should have” by Sasha in High Park


Sunday, September 8, 2013
2:41pm
5 minutes
Chicken Soup for the Golfer’s Soul
Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Jeff Aubrey, Mark & Chrissy Donnelly


He was sweating. His forehead was shiny like a brass bowl. “Where’d you get that… outfit?” He asked. “A friend.” I said and that was the truth. I’d met Pollyanna after seeing her perform, I went and introduced myself and I said, “Hey, you ever teach someone how to do that?” Pollyanna kissed me on the mouth and said, “Uh huh.” I asked her if she was free on Thursday and she said, “Friday.” I went down to her house on Friday morning. A funny time, the morning, to be taking off your clothes. “Have to pick up my boys at one for lunch,” she said, and I wasn’t exactly sure what to think. I wondered, for the first time, what I was getting myself into. She lives in a nice part of the city, with colourful semi-detached houses, all in a row. A bakery on the corner of her street smelled like cinnamon and lemon. The “boys”? Turns out she has seven-year-old twins. Identical. I wore my best undies and my best bra. Unfortunately they didn’t match. She said that the trick was to think like you are the most alluring and mysterious woman in entire world. I could get used to that.

“Door in Montreal (image dip)” by Sasha on the Bathurst streetcar


Sunday, August 18, 2013
5:21pm
5 minutes

20130819-014942.jpg

Okay, like, I don’t mean to brag but, like, I’m probably the tallest girl in my class and, like, I don’t mean to sound all, like, full of myself, but like I definitely have the biggest boobies, like, I’ve pretty much outgrown my training bra and I need to get promoted to the full cup bra. Victoria says that I might even, like, fit her Mom’s type of bra with the lacy sides and the little bow held in place with a jewel in between the cups. Okay, I’m going to tell you a secret but you have to pinky swear not to tell anyone… Okay?! Okay. Ohmygawd. So, me and Victoria were having a sleepover and, like, her Mom said, “Girls, I’m going out for a bit! Be good!” And we said, “Okay! No big deal!” And then when she was gone we went into her closet, but, like, Victoria says it’s not even called a closet, it’s called a “walk-in”. So, like, we went in there and Victoria said I could choose a dress off of the one rack but that the other rack was, like, off limits because all the dresses there were so expensive and from the Holts Renfrews. But she did! She chose one of those dresses! So we took off all of our clothes, except our underwear. At first! Then we even took off our underwears! Victoria gave me one of her Mom’s lacy thongs and a matching full cup bra… She took a satin-y type thong and a matching bra! I didn’t even know they made these things! My Mom wears Fruit of the Loom underwear and a light purple Elita-type sports bra pretty much all the time… Sometimes she doesn’t even wear a bra at all! She has tiny boobies, so, like, I guess it doesn’t matter, but, like, I think it actually does matter. A lot.