reflection
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Growing Old
Gardenia Are the whitest white you’ve ever seen, Except for the hairs escaping my brain To surface slowly on my head Like the last ever flowers Of a dying earth. Continue reading
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The Joy of Fewer (And Fewer) Friends
You may take me hereafter for a cynic, but my favourite thing about a friend is when they go away. I’m so tired, so tired of sitting in coffee shops and asking about your day, your boss, your kid, your mom, your wife. You took a trip, you were promoted, or fired, you’re on a… Continue reading
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My Mulberry Tree Is Sick
It doesn’t grow berries. At first I thought the squirrels were getting to them before I could spot them, but then I noticed the squirrels aren’t there, except in transit. There’s a younger, healthier mulberry toward the back of the property and they make a circus of that one, tally-ho from limb to limb, all… Continue reading
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Writers Block VS Pregnancy Brain
It’s a rainy day, but lately even the sunny ones feel grey. I am grey. I am seven months pregnant and struggling to hold focus. I want to sleep all the time. I have no appetite and yet a duty to eat. The food is tasteless. I drink endless glasses of water and my skin… Continue reading
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Toronto In November
Indecisive frost, skies full of shadow, a black-eyed Susan with just one petal left– The tents at Moss Park shiver in unison. On a park bench the breath of an old asian man makes tiny tired clouds–they slip out of his frown, escaping all knowledge of him. We are all found things that prefer to… Continue reading
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Perhaps
One week ago I planted morning glories. Four to six weeks before the last frost for early blooms, the little envelope said. Six wetted seeds lay soaking overnight, dreaming of a trellis, and were then each placed one centimetre deep in cheap dollar store soil. A week later and five have crept up to reveal… Continue reading
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Toronto Harbour Front, 5AM
There are low flying birds this morning, but it might not rain. I didn’t cry yesterday, but I woke up at three in the morning knowing I wanted to. There are low flying birds by the water, their sorrowful bellies nearly skimming the waves. I didn’t cry yesterday, and I might not today, but there’s… Continue reading
About Me
A poet living in Ontario. Mostly works of memoir and poetry that focus on motherhood, womanhood, and relationship to self.