cross street.

napowrimo #29

like shadows of photographs
still developing, or an
ultrasound, we
wait, we

pick apart
scrapped pieces of
ourselves, much
like our dinner, and

designate: a
part is mine, a part is yours

[the second in a row, and i guess a part of some kind of series i started without knowing it, about home, and places that meant something but are now just something i remember.]


napowrimo #4


we are face to face in the
elevator. weird, because no one
stands face to face in an elevator.

in another you held
my son, kissing his face, i
was kissing your face. now we
can’t speak. the words are
unholy, and besides,
they’re not there.


sheer fabrics do more than let in the
light. we hang curtains, i pick
patterns for bed skirts,
you pay at the


you press every button
to keep me. the fabrics,
you say, can smother us too.


sometimes it’s difficult for me to spend long, quiet saturdays & sundays lounging around my perfect home, watching my perfect pets swim around their perfect aquarium digging for food in the rocks.


i’ve had this life before, and have always given it up for a noodle-dinner/naked-mattress life, the life i’ve always clung to (with stubborn nostalgia and the ignorant insistence that i am a certain way). i’m not a certain way.

and if i am, i hope i end up inside some sort of balance between a calm, peaceful, loving home and the frantic but inviting solitude i still sometimes take comfort in.


home (office).

20140216-224356.jpgorganizing my office can be
the best part of the day.
i hide bits of glamour
behind the sheets of
coloured cardstock
& the decoupage.

i find where i can fit you in
and let yourself expose
you. i breathe and i
pretend i don’t
need cigarettes.

i breathe and i
pretend i’m not
nostalgic for the year before.


i made him a gift but i’ll
be in a silent backseat, the glass
has been given, the windshield
is already cracked

it’s getting colder all the time. i bought mittens because last year i remember finding comfort there. and because i think maybe i could use some comfort. i’ve never been very good at telling jokes. i forget them too easily.

i don’t go to the canal anymore, but i stop by the river once in awhile to see the swans and think fondly of summer, which makes me think fondly of spring, which makes me think fondly of winter, and mittens, and brings me comfort.

it has been six months.

i’m apartment hunting in my dreams. i’m not afraid anymore to live on my own; i need it. no one wants to be around me or suggests that they might. i don’t care. i don’t suggest that i might want to be around them either. i’m not good at jokes. i cast aside the things that have the potential to nurture me. i am cold. i don’t care. it is nice.

there’s a blanket i sometimes prefer to sleep beneath, but it’s out in the closet. my bed feels good the way it is. still, everything has come to this, to what i envisioned when he asked me, “what do you want?”

sometimes he’s the best thing that ever happened to me.


things i might e-mail, if i had a connection.

i lost my new sunglasses. it’s night time now so i don’t need them to see but i’ve been stumbling around on a mission, like a crazy person, to find them.

the lake is so calm even when the boats go through. i swam across to the other cottage, on the other side of the bay. we climbed the rocks holding roots of trees with our bare feet, and jumped with our fingers plugging our noses.

they’re beautiful, the kind of people whose energies are at constant risk of escaping. they smell like the lake and shampoo and they are kind to me; i have developed a new appreciation for that kind of thing.

i hate missing anything because it makes me feel like i’m giving a part of myself away. but i don’t mind this. i almost want it. things aren’t better when he is around but they’re not the same, not in a bad way.

i don’t belong here. i will find a way to tell you, without e-mail, with real words. i found my sunglasses in my backpack on the drive home. i used an inflatable turtle to make it across the lake. i don’t really care for the scent of shampoo. but i still don’t mind, or still don’t mind so much.