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Artist Marc Taro Holmes has illustrated photos of me and Katie with Japanese water-brush-pens, without knowing that we’re friends.
Tag: katie
saint street ell
We walked four hours, returned, and subjected ourselves and Michel to Guitar Wolf. My head is splitting, the result of a nasty accident between it and the fridge door. An explosively loud japanese rock god movie might not have been the most wise decision. Over my shoulder, James is in his bedroom reading a book I cannot see. Tomorrow he goes to work early and I am left alone in the city.
Tomorrow.
I will spend time discovering the schedules required between here and Toronto. (I promise, these words are a rudder for you as much as me.) The train takes five hours. Ryan North tells us that the Secret Swing is gone, torn from the chains, but I still want to go. I suspect I will leave early Tuesday morning. Jessie will be meeting me there, she flies to Halifax Wednesday evening, and I have a holiday present for Katie that still needs to be wrapped. (Darren has yet to get back to me.)
My eyes feel as if they have cracked.
what’s broken will keep us safe
we show up on front lawns at eleven
in the morning
in the evening
afternoon
what could you see in me
this is embarrassment and some
pained looks
they’ll have to explain now
it’s like a fear of intimacy
we can’t be their friends
we might slip up over dinner
and move them
their hands and our
bodies loved but rejected
we would cry and come inside
tidy places, these homes
they hide us in the piles of paper
and always remember to let us
straddle them on top
because that way they get to remember
our breasts a little
better than in
that photograph