Category: Story Time

It was eleven p.m. and the electricity was out all over Connaught. The town lay smothered in blackness except for a few windows where the light of a candle or a coal-oil lamp feebly wagged a flame. But in the Connaught Hotel, John Francis Dill’s room was afire with a grand and glorious effulgence. Minutes [...]

Snow nothing more as cracks in the walk show through like veins under skin     a sign for the kind of intimacy that buries its scars slips beneath the talk talk talk and finds its way a kind of rest like spaces left in the tracks of birds without loss without words [...]

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.