Category: Story Time

The polar bear head at FortWhyte Alive considers the dust that coats her plastic tongue— she craves bite, dreams blood, hears a burrowing owl, sprinter, long-legged in the late afternoon. In chase, the bear's frozen jaw confesses: i would gather for you crickets, ground beetles, young mourning doves. The owl enclosure beams earthy sanctuary, damp [...]

once   sewing a patch on the sleeve of an old shirt I saw you curled at my feet later I found your hibernaculum your family of gliding wonders I learned how to freeze and listen each unwinding coil an elongated whisper in the fescue you and your sisters wove down the slope around my sandals [...]

There’s no value in trying to work on an idea you don’t love. If you don’t love it, you’ll never make it sing. You need to love it. That’s more important than anything else I’m about to say. So. Opening the Door. “Write with the door closed, re-write with the door open.” This is a [...]

Thinking about birds and wires flight trajectories missiles satellites geostationary versus low shallow 5G orbits thousands of gestapo spacecraft marching across the night sky Mars and Pluto conjunct in Leo in the tenth house communication versus Convenient Surveillance puffy clouds of lost language thoracic videogame bone pain thumbs numb tongues dumb. Who will Pay for [...]

It’s the twenty-seventh day of April in the year of the pandemic and we are hoofing along the damp-from-yesterday’s-rain path through our local park and my legs are whimpering independently, while my back protests loudly from some unspecified injury it remembers, even if I can’t, when we notice first what seems to be several dark [...]

An old woman went by, pushing a baby carriage, wearing a long coat and a toque and runners, unlaced. I stood on the arm of a small t because the door to our building opened at its side and you had to walk down that path to the sidewalk. In the shade, in my shorts [...]

like Kumalo        she travels at dusk up a rocky winding road to a mountaintop. there     nestled among the trees and shrubs she can see clearly below her and far into the horizon.

Suite of illustrated poems.

They’re gone, those crocus fields, pastures where we walked in search of spring. Even the air there mauve, an eye with us the pupil, everything in focus. Bleached as shells these autumn skeletons— fleabane daisies, thistles, fractured thorns that grip our pant legs, score our skin— sharp reminders of the paucity of time. Downward path, [...]

Warning: This book contains weirdness. If you are looking for a story that makes sense and ends up neat and tidy, take this book and throw it out the window—quick. If you keep reading, don't blame me. It's not my fault. I'm only telling you exactly what happened. Remember—I warned you. Okay, so you're here. [...]