“10-year anniversary” by Julia at her desk

Saturday November 10, 2018
7:54pm
5 minutes
Into the Raven’s Nest
Curranne Labercane

This is the third time I’ve tried to say what’s real.
Stop, start, think about the deadlines and the
people who don’t know me but will get the chance to see.
Isn’t that stupid of me? Here, find a vein, stick a fork in it.
Some words live lower than the other ones. I don’t know what’s
in there and what wants to come out. What wants to stay low.
I have to say I’ve been quiet but I don’t hear anything.

I have to say I’ve been running and I haven’t moved.
I don’t know what is happening inside me. Time to celebrate
the 10th year of me not fully feeling anything at all.
When I told my dad I went through long phases where I never
felt hungry and then ones where I never felt full, he told me
it would pass. But it hasn’t passed so is this something
I need to save up to talk to a therapist about?
Is there some kind of emotional x-ray I can hook myself up to?

“In front of a full crowd” by Julia on the 9

Friday November 9, 2018
11:10pm
5 minutes
No Place Like Home
Monika Markovinovic

If I am being honest with myself I don’t need to see anyone for a long time. I wonder why that is, if maybe I’ve been seeing enough of something else that makes the solitude taste so good.
I wonder too if maybe it’s because I don’t have anything to say since the lie of saying a thing sometimes makes doing a thing feel unnecessary. I probably need to read more. I don’t know enough big words. Can’t leave the house and see somebody and use too small of a word.
That might break the system of expectation. That might really teach me something.
I don’t need a full room or anything, maybe because these days that kind of room scares me. Might send me up to the front of it with not just the wrong words but the wrong feelings.
It could have something to do with not knowing if thirst is that tickle in the throat or the one just below it. It could be about listening.

“Greet me at the gate” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Tuesday June 26, 2018
7:12am
Green
Nikki Sharp

meet me at the gate with your arms open and lift me up but don’t spin me just get me off the ground and whisper something in my ear that you’ve never said to anyone that you’ve only ever said to me and put me down and look me in the eyes because my eyes have changed since you last really saw me i know you saw me this morning but i’m talking about really seeing really knowing and my eyes are going to tell you how i miss you til i’m sick and dizzy and gorging and my eyes will tell you how i’m not sure if i can take this but my words won’t my words won’t they can’t that’s not how they work

“Modern medicine clashes” by Sasha on her balcony

Thursday May 17, 2018
8:43pm
5 minutes
from The Observer (UK)

“You must be Mrs. Macarthy? It’s nice to meet you, I’m the resident who assisted Dr. Chokrany in Stephen’s surgery. I’m pleased to say that it was a success, and your husband is in post-op and he should be waking up in the next hour or so…”

“Hi Mom, I only have a minute and – … No, Mom. I don’t get long weekends. I’m – … Mom, I only have a minute so please let me finish. I didn’t get the fellowship in Halifax so I won’t be back for Gus’ wedding… Mom. Calm down. I, I – … Shit, I have to go. I’ll call you back when I’m out of surgery. I love you.”

“Babe? I’m going to be late… I’m sorry… I, I – … It’s been a long fucking shift, okay, and – … I’ll be home by ten at the latest.”

“Are you Sue Rothstein’s son? Hi, I’m Dr. Gold, I’ve just come out of the OR and I’m so sorry to say that your mother’s tumour had spread into her brain far more intensely than we could see from the imaging. She didn’t make it through surgery. I’ll give you a minute, and if you have any questions – … We always do our best, that always what we do… I’m sorry for your loss.”

“The liar’s punishment” by Sasha at her desk

Wednesday April 25, 2018
10:25am
5 minutes
From a quote by George Bernard Shaw

I live in a different room in the house of your heart now
that the truth is out and five months have gone by
and still no word from you

I live in the room with the ones that have done you wrong
and we cower in corners when you open the door or
someone else does

I won’t call myself liar for you because the only thing I
would do differently is the one thing I
can’t do differently now

Three lines can hold the truth and the lies better than we can
so here I am and here you are but not
really you’re ten streets away

Sometimes when I think about you I think about if I’ll ever
live in a different room than this one
in the house of your heart

Is it possible for us to go into the maze where we don’t know
which way is best which way is up which way is healing and
how much are we willing to release so we both can move on

“Use your body to be the tent” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Wednesday, February 21, 2018
8:42pm
5 minutes
Nest Filled
Kim Stafford

When the kettle boils
I make a cup of tea
too late for black but
I do it anyway

I sit down at my desk
and tonight that means
the kitchen table
sweet with rounded corners
the tea
and the table

my body becomes a tent
chair legs
and my legs
fingers typing
toes tapping
tea steaming
you on my mind
you in the bones of
so many of these poems

I’ve written three lines
of your birthday card

my heart hurt
sunrise to sunset
my heart hurt
the first year in
many that I haven’t
sung to you
written to you
loved you from close up
loving you from far away
is teaching me about
womanhood
courage
softness
time

Our language is this
five minute stories
I’ll set the timer
force myself to keep going
even though now
with this
then
with this
words don’t ever seem to be
enough
always seem to be too much

too little
too late

that always seems to be the problem

Snow falls outside the window

“Christian Science Reading Room” by Sasha in her bed


Wednesday August 23, 2017
11:46pm
5 minutes
From a storefront on West Broadway

Words are my best lover
knowing when to go slow and move slick
Whisper whisper the sweet fuck
I cradle my notebook like your elbow
the salty spot where your hip is
my lip is I snuggle my pen and
don’t sweat the stain

Words know me and grow me and stretch
the truth of the t-r-u-t-h
of the b-o-d-y
b can oh-nly contain oh oh oh

d is the darkness
is the depth
is the deep

why y y why
a crest
a crescendo
Words, my tonic, my prince, my
oh my

“I have a friend who loves your photography” by Julia on the dock lounger


Thursday June 29, 2017
4:05pm
5 minutes
from a text

Maggie’s always making friends with photographers. Her dream is that one of them will consider her their muse and either always snap candids of her looking warm and stunning or always want to take her portrait for free. She tried one year to befriend painters after she saw her ex boyfriend captured so perfectly. She made a couple jokes at first, dropping her interest like a fallen pen. The artist wasn’t taking requests so she had to try and convince him without seeming desperate. Sorry, he said, Curly hair is too hard to draw.

“Improve your English” by Julia in her bed


Thursday March 23, 2017
11:30pm
5 minutes
from an ad on the bus

I can’t explain it well
enough with words.
English words.
The ones I got stuck with.
They are either too short
or too long, too young or
too old. None of us are
speaking the same language.
Even when we are.
What if ‘can’t’ changes shape as we age; what if ‘nos’ become ‘Nos’ as we shed salty skin.
In other languages that I know
I can speak things
I cannot say in the tongue
that I have learned.

“You know I will oh baby” by Julia at her desk


Friday March 17, 2017
9:33pm
5 minutes
Never Had A Dream Come True
S Club 7


For almost two years we have been meaning to go to Burgoo. For almost two years the blue name lit up on the front of the restauant always called to us. Tonight, we finally make the dream a reality. We had heard good things from friends and locals. And it’s Friday, we want to get out of the house, we want to spend time together, it’s raining; it’s going to be Burgoo. And then we sit down, read the menu, and we realize…that we have spent almost two years assuming that it’s a burger place. There were no burgers. Because Burgoo is a stew from Kentuky that has okra in it.

“with one hundred hands each” by Julia the VPL


Thursday March 16, 2017
6:20pm
5 minutes
Age Of Bronze Betrayal
Eric Shanower


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?

“trade honesty” By Julia on her couch


Saturday March 4, 2017
12:40am
5 minutes
from a poem by Rupi Kaur

I don’t know what to say. I wish I had more ideas. Some days the well is dry. Some days the well is thirsty. I wish I read more. I wish I knew different words. I wish I wasn’t only ever using certain letters.
I haven’t thought about my mom dying in a while. A whole week went by recently and I didn’t think of her at all. Except that I had to call her. Or that she had left me a voicemail and then I wondered if something bad Happened. I wondered if she was calling to break the bad news to me

“free health care to” by Sasha at her desk


Monday February 6, 2017
7:21pm
5 minutes
From a #goodnews tweet

Below the freckle below the bellybutton below the clavicle below the hip bone below the knee below the baby toe below the finger tip below the eyelash below the calf below the small of the back below the forehead below the wrinkle below the earlobe below the sole of the foot below the belly below the sternum below the laugh lines below the scalp below the lungs below the liver below the heart

“let us communicate” by Julia at her dining table


Tuesday October 18, 2016
9:00pm
5 minutes
From the back of The Sun

He never asked me what I wanted to do or what I loved or what I was thinking.
He didn’t need to know, I assumed. He didn’t think it was necessary. I don’t
know how you go your whole life as a parent not thinking it is necessary. I don’t
Know how you go your whole life talking to so many people each day and saying so
little.

The best gift he ever gave me was a necklace: black gem stone, elegant.
He brought it home for me the day after my sister gave the other half of her best
friends forever necklace to someone other than me. He said he wanted me to have one
of my very own. One that I wouldn’t need somebody else to complete.

“You’re all a bunch of weirdos!” By Sasha on her couch


Thursday September 8, 2016
11:14pm
5 minutes
Said at Jackie’s

You scratch the place where I’m hurting and
I feel awkward and weird I feel words can never
do the things I want them too even though
I pretend I know them I pretend that they are my
business. My business is water and fire. My
business isn’t words. I set the timer I set it
again and again five minutes five minutes five
minutes. Ding time’s up. Ding it’s all over.
End of the world. End of the road. End of the
story. You scratch the place where the magic
lives.

“everything I possibly can” by Julia at Starbucks


Tuesday July 12, 2016 at Starbucks
6:28am
5 minutes
from a text

I sit on the edge of my nothingness like it’s a cloud and I’m in love with it. I am cotton candy insides and I’m melting away leaving a trail of rainbow guts and tie-dyed blood. There is nothing wrong with my nothingness and for the first time in all the time there ever has been, it is peaceful instead of not. Acceptance of nothingness is a road with bumps and potholes and with poor lighting sometimes but usually free of other travelers because it’s a long one and there is enough room for everybody. There is a space now between yesterday’s pain and tomorrow’s worry and it’s all here all now- all everything I’ve been avoiding- because feelings are attached to beliefs and those things get stuck pretty hard as a system that limits me if I let it. I dangle my feet off the edge of nothingness now like it’s a dream and I’m no longer trying to catch it. No flash photography here to capture it, just smiling into the places that can be so easily filled with words words words.

“okay okay okay” by Julia on the reading chair


Sunday, July 10, 2016
1:57pm
5 minutes
Overheard on the street

It’s the eleventh time (maybe the twelfth) that he’s told me he loves me today and it’s not even noon yet. I think he’s covering up for something. Overcompensating like he does sometimes when he becomes afraid of me. I catch a glimpse of myself being hugged in the mirror, (bent low) by his unavoidable embrace. I say, okay okay okay and he lifts me up, hurt on the inside, and in his eyes. You don’t want me to love you? I catch reflection again and there is hurt on me too. I do, I say, just not parallel to the floor like that, not crumpled up in a ball that makes my back ache. Sorry, he says, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Okay okay okay, I say, I know, no one ever means to. I give myself a time out so I can be far away from him and his love that doesn’t know how to feel rejection. I don’t want to be the thing that twists his insides when he’s happy and makes him drift off to sleep dreaming about my funeral. I tell myself, in exactly five minutes (maybe six), I will go back over there and squeeze him with the honest love I’ve been keeping from him.

“Won’t you please please help me” by Julia on the 99


Thursday, March 31, 2016
10:43pm
5 minutes
From the Beatles song


If I knew what to say to you I would already have a book filled with writing that’s beautiful
poetry that looks like you
I would have pockets filled with love notes and kitchen drawers overflowing with to do lists that have your name scrawled all over them
to love: you
to touch: you
to kiss: you
to be grateful for: you
If I knew what words to string together I would have yard after yard
like a decorative threaded popcorn line at Christmas
I would wrap you up in it
I would fill the day metaphors of you

“Attackers might be trying to steal” by Julia on her patio


Thursday, July 2, 2015
4:40 pm
5 minutes
from a notice from Google

They rock you from outside your cage
They spit
They leer
They laugh
They drink your blood in a furious rage
They hit
They jeer
They scoff

Run run run
Run run run
Run run run

Run

They steal your words from right off the page
They stab
They fight
They will
They tear your flesh on a live stage
They break
They take
They kill

Run run run
Run run run
Run run run

Run

“Foul language” by Julia on her couch


Sunday, June 14, 2015
6:52pm
5 minutes
overheard at Kits Beach

Am I out of control?
That’s a line that took me over one whole minute to craft. I wrote “Am I” without even knowing I was doing it. That one’s the easy one. It’s narrowing down the second part that’s really work. I thought for a whole minute before I wrote “out of control”. I don’t know why that took so long. Why it felt that precious. I couldn’t just outright ask. It needed some dancing around the subject first. It needed some profound introspection. A) because I needed to make sure I really wanted to ask it. And B) because I needed to make sure I wanted to hear the answer.

“Can I get you anything?” by Julia at her desk


Monday, June 8, 2015
3:12pm
5 minutes
Overheard at Culprit Coffee Co.

Then suddenly I was at his funeral and his mother had asked me to say a few words. I didn’t want to say any words at all, maybe for the first time in my entire life, even. I was angry at her for even suggesting it, as if she knew I couldn’t say no even though I feared that saying anything at all would break me into a million pieces, beyond repair and reassembly.
So I started to write out a dedication to my fiancé and realized it would take years to truly honour him properly. The way I was headed, I was lucky if I could get past writing his name without weeping uncontrollably, no matter where I was or how much I had just cried over him. I didn’t want to seem weak, but what if I couldn’t read anything when it was time? What if the only thing that came out was a pained shriek or a wimper?

“In the 1950’s the word” by Julia at Dark Horse


Wednesday May 13, 2015 at Dark Horse
5:16pm
5 minutes
The R-Word
Heather Kirn Lanier


In the 1950’s the word was imagined. Created. Conjured up. It was used for a brief time to describe the feeling of having everything but still feeling so helplessly and problematically empty. It was a truthful word adopted by a lot of artists. They began to write songs about it, make plays about it, dream about it, live by it. The issue that arose was the word was being over-used and becoming too loved. Yes, the strain it had, the effect of identifying too closely with one word, caused artists and young people to connect so strongly to it that they stopped trying to end the initial suffering of it. They began to accept it as it was, without the need to change it in any way.

“Truth is what works” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Tuesday February 17, 2015
10:35pm
5 minutes
Man Seeks God
Eric Weiner


Tell me a story where we start
“Once upon a time”
Where we end
by the apple tree
With a basket and a lantern

Tell me a story
and I will braid your hair
I’ll take one piece over another
I’ll stoke the fire

Tell me a story
where the truth works
Her mustard magic
Where we only mince garlic
Not words

“happens without words” by Julia at her desk


Wednesday February 11, 2015
1:07am
5 minutes
mysticmama.com

I’ve started this letter 4 times already. I don’t know how to address you…dear is close because you are dear to me but not in this current moment. I don’t remember the last time you were accurately dear to me. I don’t think people understand that when they write it in front of a name, substituting it for “to”. To you. Dear you. Am I missing something? I could just put your name but I don’t think that expresses my feelings well either. You,. I can’t start a letter with You comma; I’m not a complete idiot. You colon. Yeah I could do that. You: –because I could list all the things you are or that you do and the first couple would be aggressive but then I’d remember why I care about you and they would start to get good again.

“happens without words” by Sasha on her couch


Wednesday February 11, 2015
10:50pm
5 minutes
mysticmama.com

it happens without words
the realization
like a raindrop
on your third eye
the understanding
in the pit of your belly
near where your breath
lives
it happens without asking
permission
or
if the timing is
any good
it happens just before you leave
for the day
a twister in your heart
a tornado in your throat
a sob
a reach
a hand
cold
far
far
sleep close
the sound of a car
door
closing
opening
closing

“I never used to notice this awful quiet” by Julia on her couch


Friday January 23, 2015
1:16pm
5 minutes
from a song by The Be Good Tanyas

Stings like pine needles pricked into my brain-
Where have you been?
Don’t bother me with little words.
I begged you not to leak here.
I asked you nicely not to unload real feelings near this.
And you cry cry cry.
Faucet leaky and abandoned.
Then I hear the high pitched song of the radiators. About to explode. About to change tunes forever-Where you’ve been don’t bother me. But where you are I can’t seem to wrap my head around.
Are you happy now? Are you here? I never noticed this sadness. I always saw it from a distance, bleeding into the landscape before. Now it’s mine and it’s heavy and it’s not just a blurred line off beyond the horizon. Now it’s mine and it’s loud. This crippling tender quiet.

“word by word” by Julia at her parent’s kitchen table


Monday January 12, 2015
11:55pm
5 minutes
from a quote by Isabel Allende

You count these words on your fingers if you have to
So you remember how many important things I’m saying to you
Saying to you all the important things
This way you can take inventory
You can make sure you don’t lose any words
That you don’t misplace them
Or have them stollen from you unknowingly
Number one will be I
Number two will be you
(there is no particular order)
Number three will be with
Number four will be joy
Number five will be life
Number six will be finally
Number seven will be breath
Number eight will be harmony
Number nine will be agree
number ten will be and
It’s a phrase
Or a sentence
You have ten words to keep track of
To make sure they stay in good hands
And when you’re good and ready, you’ll weave them into a throw for your couch
A pillowcase on which you’ll rest your head

“If you don’t have it” by Julia at Cultura Italiana


Wednesday October 22, 2014 at Cultura Italiana
2:21pm
5 minutes
A recipe for millet banana bread

crazy days were behind us
we saw the sun
and the sunset moon
it was something to dream about
didn’t want to dream alone
crazy breeze
inside the hope’s heart
with a candle left burning
if you don’t have it
you can’t miss it
when it’s gone
crazy days
were hidden tightly
inside the cracks of the bark
the old lived rings of
time past
we saw the sun
and the sunset moon
it was better
than the memory
in that little moment
that tiny one just for us
if you don’t have it
you can’t wish it
was something else
or something
better
for words
otherwise
just pouring out of
fingertips, cut open
just like the blood
of the emotionless fight
it makes sense
because it doesn’t have to
and in a world without rules
it is the only thing
we can understand
and we try
and we listen
but we mostly try to keep
all the magic that we used to know
somewhere deep in the pockets
of time

“Basta!” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Saturday October 4, 2014
6:02pm
5 minutes
Overheard in Piazza Bellini

I’m writing you a letter. This isn’t it. It’s on the kind of fancy paper your grandmother might give you, with flowers in the corners. It’s written in blue fountain pen ink and stamped on the envelope with gold stars. I’m writing you a letter because I have something to tell you that’s too hard to say with a voice. It must be said with a pen, with blue ink, on fancy paper.

Remember when you dreamed in colour? Remember when you know the recipe for chocolate cake without looking at the card, dotted with batter, from previous summers? Remember when you drank iced tea by the mug?

“developmentally disabled adults” by Sasha at her desk


Thursday October 2, 2014
5:14pm
5 minutes
from a SSHRC proposal

I wish that I could speak these words to you, in a whisper, in your left ear, cuz it’s closer to your heart. I wish that I could speak these words to you, and only you, you and me alone in a room smelling eachother like animals, my breath like earl grey tea, your armpits like oak trees. I wish that I could speak these words to you, eye to eye, transmitting the ever present light, transmitting the ever present now. I wish that I could speak these words to you, belly to belly, no words actually necessary, but the icing on the carrot cake, cinnamon scented, cream cheese and maple syrup.

“I’ve breathed the mountain air” by Sasha on her couch


Tuesday, July 22, 2014
11:42pm
5 minutes
I’ve Been Everywhere
Hank Snow



Let me start by saying, I’m terrible at this kind of thing. I’m terrible at saying what I mean and meaning what I say and… You’re the one that’s good with words. You’re the one who knows how to put thoughts together like a… shopping list. No – … I mean… When your mother left I wasn’t sure where my own damn bellybutton was. I wasn’t sure how to brush my teeth, or make a salami sandwich. I let you down, Tilly. I know I did. I’m – … I’m sorry.

“September I’ll remember” by Julia on her couch


Thursday, July 17, 2014
9:10pm
5 minutes
April Come She Will
Simon And Garfunkel



Having met you that one day, it uh, it really rocked me. It was like meeting the moon. Does that make..I’m just. I’m trying to sound honest, I guess. Or uh, expressive. You made me realize how closed off I’d been. I’m, I know you’re with someone, so I’m not, you know, I don’t want you to think that I..I’m just. Maybe you were right. Can barely get a thought out. I think you made a good point. And, you know, maybe you were right about me. I don’t know if I had uh, met you the day before or the day after if I would feel the same way I do now..Maybe I wouldn’t have been able to hear you at all if it, uh, were, you know, in any other minute than when it was. Your words. They were buzzing, uh, you know sort of resonating I guess, with my whole. Yeah. I. Thank you. I am so bad at this. Wow. I’m trying not to sound like the biggest idiot and yet that’s all I seem to be able to do. I’m glad it happened. Meeting you. I really am.

“Less like a lightning strike” by Julia on the subway going west


Saturday March 8, 2014
8:49pm
5 minutes
an interview with Barbara Kingsolver

More like a gun shot
More like a tooth being ripped from warm gums
More than a giant axe to the heart
More like a life being promised to another
More like heart ache with great similes
More like a dream that started off as a nightmare
More like a wish that turned into a threat
More like a canyon filled up with dirty lies
More like a soft spot being crushed with one squeeze
More like the crippling news of somebody’s end
More like the devastating sadness of ruining the last chance
More like the idiotic blindness from staring into an eclipse
More like a harsh word in the middle of a funeral
More like a meteor hitting the same place
More like a story being killed before its conclusion

“Safety pocket” by Julia on the 506 going west


Wednesday March 5, 2014
10:33pm
5 minutes
the box of matches

She’s got that safety pocket that ooh will she or won’t she take off and rocket that if she does how far will she go to Jupiter and back to the very last row to the end of her dreams to the start of her screams to the depths of the water back to the barrel that shot her she’s got to she ought to stay back or she’ll rot you and then she can fly birdie high in the sky kissing every try and dying to die she’s got that safety stuff that guess what she’s doing and is it enough that party go hardy that coarse and the rough that mixture that tincture that pass pass puff puff

“As I held his hand he would have tremors and small jerking movements” by Julia at her desk


Wednesday February 5, 2014
10:10pm
5 minutes
Learning To Love You More
Harrell Fletcher & Miranda July


sometimes you wanna sing, have a song in your head
and all the rest seems unimportant
or just too plain to care about right then
so you do
you sing it out and you let the emotions from
well, your past
bubble up and from words that rhyme with each other
Shania Twain kind of words
words you never thought you’d hear your boyfriend defend
words you always told yourself you would never own
you do now
cause Shania knew what she was doing
and on some deep level, everybody knows that
you sing to the one who stole your heart
the one with eyes so blue you can only come up with lyrics about the sky
the one who loved you in secret but hurt you hard in front of the whole world
you may even sing about the wind or something
the breeze, the trivial, the dew?
probably the dew.
let’s be honest: the dew.
and you struggle to come up with a chorus
or a verse
or whichever didn’t come first
and you picture singing that to someone, anyone
one day in the future
your lover-
when you get one
or your kid-
when you are capable of one
and you hope it causes those lovey dovey tremors
those small ever so subtle shakes that keep
you singing those songs when you find them

“it has a song” by Julia on her couch


Sunday December 15, 2013
11:47pm
5 minutes
A quote by Maya Angelou

A lot of the time it has to do with slowing down your thoughts and really truly seeing each letter inside your mind before it forms a full word. It’s the same for sentences and then paragraphs and then stories. It’s a magical thing when you just trust that they will in fact form and they will in fact make sense and they will inevitably communicate something. Something communicated is a lovely thing. Not always does it translate perfectly from our brains to our mouths but not always does it have to. It’s especially difficult when you let a little air into your brain and start to give space in between words so you don’t know what the next thing you’ll think is until you’ve thought it. It’s hard to know if you already had the entire thing preplanned or if you were able to truly listen to each letter forming each word forming each thought. The joy is in not fully knowing but being willing to find out. It’s a risk on a small scale. It’s a risk because it isn’t a guaranteed success. That’s what living is. A risk. Each day is a new word, a new thought, a new story, a new memory.

“we are responsible” by Julia at Lit on College


Monday, October 28, 2013 at Lit Espresso Bar
5:10pm
5 minutes
“Real life and other tall stories”
The Wednesday Review


For calling our mothers
for teaching our brothers
for truthing to others
for admitting our druthers

for waiting in lines
for talking in rhymes
for singing in time
for drinking with limes

for laughing at jokes
for helping out folks
for ignoring pokes
for avoiding mean blokes

for calling our mothers
for calling our mothers
for calling our mothers
for calling our mothers

for cuddling the wee ones
for including the shunned ones
for smiling at the sad ones
for hoping for the worst ones

for asking good asks
for doing good tasks
for not wearing masks
for stocking the flasks

for reading books
for cautionary looks
for challenging crooks
for cleaning the nooks

for calling our mothers
for calling our mothers
for calling our mothers
for calling our mothers

“find the right words” by Julia at Dark Horse on Spadina


Tuesday, March 12, 2013 at Dark Horse on Spadina
5:06pm
5 minutes
from a quote by Jack Kerouac

Say you love me. Say you love love love me. Say you need me. Say you need need need me. Say you want me. Say you want want want me. Say you fear me. Say you fear fear fear me.
All those words in a song. In a song that sounds like swing, jazz, blues, real and true.
All those words in a poem you write. In a poem that sounds like Di Brandt, same voice, no punctuation.
That’s what I’m looking for. Been searching for years. Almost one hundred tiny years. Dog years maybe. Get me a dog. Buy me a house. Treat me to a nice dinner for one and pick me up when I’m finished.
You can decide how badly I treat you. You can play the record on repeat, dance a circle around your ideas in your living room, and then paint them on the walls the way toddlers do with markers.
It’s because I say I love you. That I love love love you. Because I say I need you. That I need need need you. Because I say I want you. That I want want want you. Because I say I fear you. That I fear fear fear you.
I can’t be the only one. Lonely one. One and only lonely one.
You too.
You can be me so you can free me. I can’t be you. I’ve already tried. I’m asking you nicely. I’m making it rhyme. I’m not wearing day clothes and I’m letting my heart drip drip onto the floor.
Do you want me to spell it out?