“I married Dave” by Julia at her desk

Monday October 8, 2018
8:30pm
5 minutes
Plants Don’t Have Birthdays
Andrea Gregor

I married Dave
He is the one I wanted to marry
He is the one I wanted to marry
He is the one I wanted
I am happy with Dave
He is the one who makes me happy
He is the one who
He is the one who makes me
I am in love with Dave
He is the one I wanted to love
He is the one I loved to want
He is the love I wanted
I settled for Dave
He is the one I wanted to leave me
He is the one I wanted to leave
He is the one I wanted then didn’t
I am still with Dave
He is the one I regret
He is the one I didn’t expect
He is the one I was too afraid to question
He is the one I can’t see myself in
He is the one who was there
He is the one who had a car
He is the one who had a temper
He is the one who had a problem
He is the one who had a temper
He is the one who lied
He is the one who kept me small
He is the one who I let keep me small
He is the one I married

“change the towels in the bathroom” by Julia at the studio


Monday July 31, 2017
4:54pm
5 minutes
Amelia Bedelia
Peggy Parish


Mona in the bath tub on her knees, scrubbing.
Finds a collection of black mildew. Furrows
her already furrowed brow. She curses his
name under her breath, Fucking Dennis and your fucking
lack of purpose in this life except to make me
fucking miserable. She hasn’t washed herself in
a week. She’s protesting. Maybe one of these
nights Dennis won’t try to stick his dick in
when she’s asleep on the couch. He tells her his
mother is going to inspect the bathroom and Mona
laughs as if she cares. But here she is, in the tub,
on her knees, bleeding for a man who does not bleed
for anyone but himself. And his mother.

Later, the kitchen tile is spotless and the food
is on the table. Dennis lies and says he’s
been working hard all day.
At what?
Drinking. Complaining. Leaves out the only
parts that are true.
His mother pulls a sprig of rosemary out of her mouth
and spits into the tomatoes. Mona’s lips turn upward.
Dennis throws a chicken leg at Mona’s face.
I told you my mother hates rosemary.

“Improve your English” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Thursday March 23, 2017
11:36pm
5 minutes
From an ad on the bus

Shaking your fist at the red sky
you are the underwater colours that I
don’t have the language to describe
You are swollen and indignant beyond
the horizon
Roots reaching and curling into other
roots and fingers of butterfly wings
You are more tired than you’ve ever been
and yet you keep wailing
waiting for for someone to respond
When I was fourteen and riding
the bus home
a man pulled a knife on another man
because he was standing too close
I knew the world would break my heart
but I didn’t know the cruelty
the oil
the destruction
Sixteen years and three broken hearts
later and I lean in to you and
put my hand on your quaking back

“In an attempt to get around this problem” by Julia on the 99


Saturday March 12, 2016
5:24pm
5 minutes
Epigenetics2 Revolution
Nessa Carey


There’s a man staring at me from under a balaclava. I am scared but more than that- I am furious. I think if I show fear he wins. I am mad that he is winning. I am so mad that he is anything on this planet, but because I have to deal with this, I am angry that these stupid tactics are working on me. He is on my mind. At the front of it. I tell myself not to look up at him. I don’t want to meet the gaze of this ridiculous human being who’s growing harder in his pants at the thought of displacing me in my rightful position on this earth. I tell myself that if I don’t look at him, I will be the one in control. I am desperate for another human to get on this god forsaken bus so I can avoid eye contact with him or her as well so it doesn’t look like he’s getting to me, just seeming that I don’t look at anyone, that I don’t give a flying fuck about connection.

I am afraid.
And I hate him for that.

“the globally inspired” by Julia on her couch


Sunday January 24, 2016
11:49pm
5 minutes
from the front of a flyer

I heard on the news today that two more kids were shot in their front yard.
They were selling lemonade.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to wake up every morning, drink my coffee, put on my suit, go into schools and teach young people how to measure the angles of an isosceles triangle, or that just because our country allows people to carry firearms that it doesn’t make it okay to use them, or that these two smiling babies were still warm from their mother’s womb, being watched from the kitchen window by that same love–looking down for just one second to pull a splinter out of her thumb.
I don’t know how any of us do it. Keep living on repeat like we don’t see what’s happening in our world, right outside our houses, hitting closer and closer to home each time. I don’t know how any of us leave the safety of our sheets each and every day and find a new version of brave to wear for the day.

“Violence faces” by Sasha on her couch


Sunday October 4, 2015
11:23pm
5 minutes
from a tweet from the Green Party of Canada

Why did I sit in the window of this place? I’m not sure why you’re running. You aren’t wearing appropriate footwear. I watch you, hair flying, on the verge or tripping, drooling, crying? You’re coming towards me. You’re coming in. You open the door.

I’ve only had violent impulses twice in my life, not counting right now. Your desperation is thick like cream cheese icing. Don’t dip your finger in.

I pretend I don’t see you. You spot me and squint. I have exceptional peripheral vision. You pretend you don’t see me, too. I hadn’t seen Jake sitting in the back of the bar.

“considered to be” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Sunday December 8, 2013
8:49pm
5 minutes
The back of the Himalayan Sea Salt

She is considered to be civil. And thoughtful. Smiley. Warm. Honest. Kind. But then she punched the one in the white coat, the one with the painted eyes, and all those things flew like geese, north.

“Let’s go outside…” She said. “Okay,” said the one in the white coat. Trepidatious. Excited. On the sidewalk, dotted with cigarette butts and old pieces of gum now black and completely flat, like coins, she smiles. She takes a deep breath. She winds up. She punches the one in the white coat right there, in that soft baby spot, the space between the cheek and jaw bone. Slip. Connect. Spit. Teeth. A mouthful of rose petal.

She walked to the park and puked. She wondered if she might get arrested.