Examples

Dance among the coloured flowers,
And wear pure white.
Meet me there,
And we’ll perform
Like we always should have.
I’ll lend myself to you,
Because I know it’s right.
And even though there are tears in my eyes,
I’ll never tell you.
You’re too proud for that.
We’ll sing together, too,
Because singing is what you’ve done all your life.
You may not have the faith to believe
That we’ll reunite, one day,
But that’s okay,
Because I have faith enough for us both.
I have to,
Or this would be too hard.
We’ll meet again,
And we’ll wear white,
And talk of plans we never made.
I hope you’ll be waiting for me,
When I join you someday,
And we’ll dance among the coloured flowers.
















The thick sand;
Layer upon layer
Of dirty, hard sand
On the coasts of the ocean.
With trembling hands,
And sober feet,
I squeezed the rocks
Between my toes.
A man soon came
To wish me tidings of the summer.
He told me that August
Was a goddess
Meant to be worshiped.
I shied away
From the interesting man,
And pretended I did not hear him.
He stopped me,
Sat me down,
And painted the picture of wind.
He told me of life,
And beauty,
And everything there was.
He let me touch
His wrinkled face,
So I would know how it felt
To touch time.
He let me stroke
His silver hair
To feel the universe
At my fingertips.
And then he sung
The ocean to me,
And filled an abyss
With salty, clean water.
I felt like I was everything,
Until he grew tired.
He told me he needed to rest,
And I understood,
Because my grandmother takes naps sometimes,
Too.
So he laid his gentle face
On my shoulder
And drifted off.
After hours of
Appreciating the sea,
I told him to awaken,
For I had to go.
He did not wake.
And so I sat,
And realized
That he had given me
All of him.

So I told his story
Again.













Spider webs
On cracked ceilings;
Or cobwebs
On cracked floors.
The latter seems more lonely
Than it ever did before.

Dusty nails and liquor
Spilled on windowsills;
In light or in deep darkness
You can see it
Slowly kill.

Laundry hanging off the door
That’s hanging off its hinges;
Remnants of the late late nights
Of broken-hearted binges.

A deep handful of wishes and a
Rotting body on the floor;
The latter
Seems more lonely
Than it ever did before.











Waves
Of amber fields
Tickle the sky.
And as we share,
The growing crop
Is something to us all.
The fields of
Saskatchewan
Delight me.
I long to return
To the wide open prairie,
And run through the fields
Once more.
I long to wear
Something loose and free
Where nobody cares
How I dress.
I’m compelled to run
Through the open field
As fast as I possibly can
And let the wind
Whip at my face
In the yellow summer.
I long for cold winters,
And hot-chocolate scenes
Of community.
A sense of belonging
Where we can all say
“We’ve been there.”
I long to return
To my birthplace,
My home.
I long to return
To Saskatchewan.








A small silhouette stood out against the sunset, as it closed in on the coast. The dark figure’s hair blew like a flag in the sharp wind of dusk, displaying its deep pride. In the distance, on the water, the black flag of a ship blew too, mirroring the small girl’s sentiment. The scene was dark, but for the light of furious oranges and reds of the sunset, burning across the sky and reflecting in the water, reaching and spreading in its wrath, then receding in angry defeat.
The girl, young in years, old in mind, pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them as tightly as she could. Her bare feet and bare hands were burning with cold; she found it refreshing. Her long nightdress gathered up around her feet for some shred of warmth. She spread out her toes and gave a long and dreamy sigh, wondering what the world was.
It took her a while to even notice the shadow of a ship crawling closer and closer to the shore. When it first grabbed her attention, she stared at it with cautious curiosity, which evolved into impish delight. She looked behind her to make sure no one was there, and then she half ran, half rolled down the steep hill to the lower beach.















Rosemary and Time



The thick foliage of my garden
Makes way for sullen weeds.
Time has allowed the greenery
To pass.
That’s where we used to sit together,
Among the herbs.
You used to tell me
How I smelled of beauty
And earth.
You told me my lips
Were like the roses
That flower among the rosemary,
As though we were in an old movie.
And we laughed
At how dumb we sounded,
And how your friends would laugh at you.
Then I’d invite you in
For some lemonade.
I’d pick some herbs,
And walk through door
All covered in chipping white paint,
And we’d feel like we were everything.
I’d serve you cold drinks,
And make you hot meals,
And we’d talk and laugh until it hurt.
But the rosemary and time have passed.
You were drafted,
And we drifted apart.
After years
Of sitting alone among the dying herbs,
I grew tired
Of waiting for the war to end.
I met a boy
Who was kind, and sweet.
We danced and slept together,
But I always saw your face.
You came home,
And I stopped seeing him at once,
But things were not the same.
Your face was weathered,
And you couldn’t walk.
You couldn’t step into my kitchen
For lemonade,
Or dance among the flowers,
Or sit among the herbs.
I stopped picking sage
To cook your dinner,
And I think I stopped loving you.
It wasn’t because you were crippled;
I could live with that.
It was that you stopped being you.
The things you’d seen,
And the things you’d lost,
Had changed you so well.
I didn’t like who you were.
So I gave you up,
But I’m still in love with the memory of you.

And now I’m old,
And covered with time,
And I smell of thyme,
And my wrinkles are deep in my features.
Here I am,
Sitting among the rosemary and time,
And remembering you,
And our lemonade,
And our love.

















The running river froze with ice,
And still, and still, I held his place.
I called his name, but once, but thrice,
But Eternity! in thickness stewed its grace
And fell upon its knees to pray
The handsome songs of nether-day.
The moonless waves fell ill with cold,
And pleasure borrowed from its sheath;
For once, never was the story more told
Than the contrast of charcoal with ice beneath.



Dancing on the blades of steel,
A little girl fell hard and fast.
Her pure white dress, as she could feel,
Was crusting, dusting; it was the last.
Times were hard, life isn’t cheap,
So go to sleep now, count your sheep.
She hung her heart out there to dry,
And let the yellow warm wind blow.
She told herself she’d never cry,
And let herself die, die slow.

All the world is such a whir,
Wish you had no frozen fears.
Have a heart, dear special girl,
Blinking down your sullen tears,
And wishing for the break of day;
Little hands will fall away.
Dancing through, and feeling dead,
Never feel free to fly.
Rest your head now, go to bed,
Cry your little lullaby.












Eating freezies in bulk and sporting henna tattoos, we spent that summer becoming who we are. You may forget, but I remember. I remember how we spent more money on that sparkling lemonade than we made at our stand. You put in five dollars, and I put in twenty. We pooled our money, lost four dollars, and split our winnings 50/50.

I remember spending that summer eating kool-aid powder off our hands, dying our skin orange and purple and red. Freezies, too, but only the liquid (we were too impatient to wait for them to freeze.) God, we were on top of the world. My greatest memories were breaking out of my shell, becoming adventurous. Accomplishments like jumping off your roof onto the trampoline, and running from snapping turtles in the river. You took advantage of me that summer, how gullible I was. You told me you were better than I could ever be, and you confirmed it with every thing you ever did. Every time you skipped school to compare lip-gloss with the girl down the street, every time you ditched me to hang out with your other friends, you told me you didn't need me.

Now you go out late and drink, you hang out with friends and go to parties. We haven't spoken in years.

And here I am, six years later, remembering our lemonade and henna tattoos.























Paint the stars
Across my weathered shoulders;
Let the moons orbit ‘round my eyes.
Have the planets tuck me in
When I go to bed at night.
Let the sun greet me
When the time comes.

Paint me with the stars,
Press them deep into my wrinkles,
And throw the moon’s iridescent cloak
Over my crippled back.
Show me the heavens,
Have me caress the galaxy
And play with the universe
Like a child.

I long to touch forever;
I’m old and worse for wear.
I know it seems a mystery,
But I’ve no energy for fear.
You see, my son, the cloak of death,
Is just as warm as the love in my heart.
So let me reach up to the stars,
And know that I’m okay.

















Write from the heart,
Where every word that flows
Is made of something real.
Where every simple thought
Could be a metaphor, or imagery,
Or something more
Than you’ve ever understood before.
The trees could be your greatest friends,
A grave could be a memory.
For after all,
Our souls can speak
More than our minds can.












“Hail Mary, full of grace.”
The prayer worked through her twisted lips like a sin, testing waters too deep for her reach, walking down street too dark to see. Her fingers, too, they walked; they walked down my body, or rather rolled, and the rain rolls gently down the scarred city trees. She fondled my skin, let it play between her fingers like a thought. She fumbled for my hand, not taking her pale eyes off of my face. She was like a child, discovering my fingers, testing them and feeling them and seeing how they worked. She slowly moved forwards, put her lips to my skin, and rested there.

“Hail Mary, full of grace. Blessed art thou amongst women.”

I pushed her away, gently, let her fall onto the bed. Her skirt was hanging off her hips, sliding down her thighs. The tears in her eyes hurt more than any weapon ever could.
“Mary, tell me you’re ready.” She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. She whispered, then, as though afraid; “I don’t want the truth. Just tell me you’re ready.”

I stepped over and clasped her slender fingers into my palm. Her eyes stayed as closed as my heart was. I pulled her fingers up to my face; she lingered there. I shook my head, slowly, and every shake from side to side seemed to kill something of her. She nodded, eyes still closed, and pulled her hands back. I knew she was hurt. Then she let it all out.

“I love you.”



And that’s why. That’s why I told her I never wanted to see her again.

It’s amazing how afraid you can be of something you don’t believe in.