A very acceptable ratio of trash to treasure.
How often do you walk or run?
Bare feet
on the cold floor.
Stepping.
To the kitchen.
The scent of coffee
rising like incense–
almost holy.
The birds
singing outside,
a conversation
through the glass.
I wonder
what they’re saying.
I walk
between the spaces.
Footsteps
soft as raindrops
on yielding ground.
My roots
are deep here,
slow and steady,
as a heartbeat.
No need
to scurry off.
I’m not a field mouse.
Just a dandelion seed,
drifting gently
in the breeze.
Microphone in hand
grinning vitriol
venom
dressed as debate
“I think
it’s worth
some gun deaths
every single year
so we can
have the 2nd Amendment
That is a prudent deal.”
the smirk a tear
across his face
syllables like teeth
sharp and ripping
His words
burn a hole
in his throat
like hot metal
and he bleeds
Misogyny bigotry
racism
homophobia fear
and lies
all over
the floor
How do you relax?
Relax?
I’m not sure what that means.
I can shut off my brain
for a little while,
staring
into a glowing screen,
so my nervous system
settles
into numbness.
Maybe that’s a kind of rest —
but mostly
it feels like hiding.
Disappearing
into the endless scroll.
The noise so loud
that for a moment
I forget
my own.
If you had to give up one word that you use regularly, what would it be?
If I cut the word sorry
from my mouth,
it would bleed
and ooze
like an abscess.
All the rot
from the moments
I should have said —
No.
Enough.
Mine.
— spilling on the floor.
It would be a relief.
I’ve always used sorry
to make myself smaller.
So let them choke
on the silence,
left without empty apologies
for sins that were never mine.
What brings a tear of joy to your eye?
The amusement park whirled
with color and music,
the air sweet with the scent
of funnel cake
and cotton candy.
Your smiles that day shone
as bright as the afternoon sun.
Laughter bubbling up
as you rode the bumper cars together –
joy captured in my mind,
like photographs
pressed between the pages of a book.
Little girl with your curls
flung wild on the tilt-a-whirl
spinning, spinning,
looking so grown up in the
midway lights.
Little boy, not so little anymore,
giggling on the twirling tea-cup ride,
joy shimmering
like stars
in your eyes.
Your father and I
held your hands
each of us in turn,
hoping to tether you both
to the moment
… for just a little longer.
But childhood is fleeting
fading like the music of the carousel
echoing softly behind us
as we made our way home
Why do you blog?
The words
flow like water–
drip
drip,
dripping
to wash away the stone
I buried myself beneath.
Until the edges smooth,
until my armour
is worn away.
Leaving me bare,
vulnerable–
but seen.
How are you feeling right now?
I feel like an ancient tree,
branches bare,
bone-tired
but still reaching
for the pale autumn light.
The cold ebbs into me
as the days grow darker,
but my roots are dreaming
beneath the blanket of
brown and auburn leaves –
of birds singing
and fruit blossoms
decorating my boughs
like confetti.
What was the last thing you searched for online? Why were you looking for it?
I went searching for a way
to prove to you
the earth is round
the sky is blue.
I stack studies like stones,
but you knock them down
with flawed papers
written by charlatans,
selling snake oil.
You wrap your children
in linen
and beeswax,
but they cannot breathe.
As viruses creep inside,
the pseudomembrane
thickens —
thickens —
strangling their airways.
And still you wail
that science is the enemy,
and the only thing
that kept the shadows at bay
was beef tallow
and
belief.
Yet the darkness still comes –
and I cannot Google
a way
to save you.
What TV shows did you watch as a kid?
When I was a kid
I watched a television show
about communist bears
that lived in the clouds.
their fur seemed to come
in every color.
and all they wanted
was for everyone
to be kind,
to care.
I remember one program
about a superhero
who fought pollution,
summoned by children
with magic rings.
children just like me
standing up to corporations
that were choking the sky
with smog.
alongside a hero
born of their own strength
and heart.
on another,
there were puppets
that lived on a street
I would never visit,
yet somehow
it still felt
like home.
I learned my ABCs
and how to share,
how to love myself
and my community
from the songs
of cheerful monsters.
that’s what radicalized me.
every saturday morning
between sweet bites of cereal
I learned:
Love is a verb.
Blood in the Bramble 