Book

Journal Entries

No "A" Allowed

Joseph didn't like squirt guns
He didn't like swimming
He didn't like the pool
He didn't like bees
He didn't like flowers
He didn't like the sun
He didn't like picnics
He didn't like being hot
He didn't like mosquitoes
He didn't like the outdoors
He didn't like bonfires
He didn't like sleeping in
He didn't like relaxing
He didn't like shorts or flip flops
He didn't like sunscreen
Joseph despised summer.

Pictures of Animals

He used to send her pictures of animals.
They'd come unexpectedly
when she was at work
or just waking up
or shopping for clothes.
And they'd come when they hadn't spoken yet that day.
He used to send her pictures of animals.
Once, it was after a nightmare
where she woke up struggling to breathe,
and once it was while they fought.
He used to send her pictures of animals.
They'd make her smile and laugh.
They'd make her forget what was wrong.
He used to send her pictures of animals.
He used to.

"It happened that green and crazy summer when…"

It happened that green and crazy summer when Frankie was twelve years old. It was the summer he would later think of when he thought about how great summer was. The particular day he thought of was always the same.
He was headed down the street toward the park, about 10AM. He could already hear the shrieks of little kids at the water park even though it wasn't in his line of vision yet. The change he had for the ice cream truck jingled in his shorts pocket. He was walking quite quickly, because he knew if Nigel didn't get there in time, someone would steal their tree.
As he got closer, he saw a figure perched in amongst the branches and relaxed because Nigel was there. Frankie slowed down his steps. It was already getting hot. When he reached the tree and began to climb, he started talking, as if picking up the conversation he and Nigel had never finished the evening before. When he got no response, he stopped his ascent and looked up. The figure he had taken for his best friend Nigel was a girl.
Nigel never showed up that day. He had come down with the flu.
That was the day Frankie met his secret friend.

Diction Assignment

Brighton Pier in the 1970s. A couple walks along the pier on a sunny afternoon and discusses dinner plans.

“Say, darling, what do you say to spending the evening out with me tonight? It has been a quite some time since we were apart from the children.”

“Oh John, you know I’d love to. But who will care for the children tonight? Charles needs his bath, you know. He’s filthier than a mud puddle.”

“But Margaret, dear, perhaps your sister will be willing to come by for the evening. I’m sure she would if you asked.”

“I’d best not trouble her again, John. She already does so much.”

“You make a fair point, darling. But I’ll tell you what, if I may. Why don’t I ask cousin Jack to come by? He’s a good lad, Jack is. He’ll surely agree to it. What do you say? You’ll do this, won’t you Margaret?

“All right. I’ll chance it. I s’pose Jack is rather responsible. Where would you like to spend the evening then, dear?”

Brighton Pier, 2013. A couple walks walks along the pier and plans out their evening.

“Hey, love, do you fancy going out for a drink tonight? Maybe some dinner too? We haven’t gone out without the kids in forever.”

“You’re right, Dave. But the kids need baths, and we don’t have anyone with enough patience to look after them.”

“What about your sister? She’s always around.”

“She’ll say no, Dave. You know she will. Remember last time when she looked after them? She couldn’t get the paint out of her hair for a week. There’s a reason she doesn’t have kids of her own.”

“Fine. What about Damien? He owes us a favour after we let him use the garage that one time. That sound good to you?”

“Yeah, okay. He does owe us, and I guess he’s old enough now. Where were you thinking of going tonight?”

Bop

Once I’ve buried this feeling

You say all you wanted

Was to avoid a fight,

But instead of backing down,

You snuck around the side and

Allowed your desperation to

Morph into betrayal and manipulation

Let’s talk again once I’ve buried this feeling.

You had me thinking we were

Getting along, but you didn’t let me know

You were lighting fires elsewhere.

You watched me step

Right into the flames,

Didn’t tell me the whole truth

Until it had passed, and left me.

Used. Charred.

Let’s talk again once I’ve buried this feeling.

It’s been some time now, and

The sting has turned to an ache.

I’ve distanced, distracted, coached myself,

Focused on forgiving you.

I know you don’t agree,

But I just need a little more time.

Let’s talk again once I’ve buried this feeling.

Newshoots

This

This is the blister left behind by last week's worries.

The one that burned and danced its way down my throat

where it split my voice into tender stutters

that were fresh and raw.

And this is the route my eyes took to find that smile

that crept farther east than it did west

and sent your voice on a trip that began in my ears 

and ended on my skin.

This is the sigh that scraped against my lungs

when I didn't find you waiting

and it dawned on me that maybe you never were,

that maybe I was just good at catching up.

And when you forgot how to talk to me

this is the pact you broke.

And this is the moment when I am glad it means I didn't have to.

Sonnet

Who am I to say what this day will bring?

For certain we know only that the sun

will rise before the moon and we know spring

will greet our frozen thoughts when winter's done.

But which words will stay by you in the night

and dance along the surface of your skin?

I cannot wish for more than to pour light

upon the place from which they came within,

where my chest rose and tried to form a sound

that caught beneath my lips that were a pair

of wounded children desperate to be found

by someone who could teach them not to stare.

And so as I ignite and turn to ice

I hope my broken silence will suffice.

Journal Entry

haaah one, two three. I heard the door close tssss behind me. After waiting 47 minutes for her to stop me, I was done. I was getting on the train. It didn’t feel like running away, even though that’s what Marg had called it. I wasn’t running away, because nothing and no one was coming after me. And yet, even safe on the train now, as it sat at the station, I wanted every haaah of the opening door to welcome her in so she could pull me back out onto the platform before it closed tssss and the train took off. Any second. I angled my seated body toward the door and stared. Nothing in the station moved. My breath felt chilled. Haaah. I inhaled with the sliding doors. Was she coming after me? Tsss. No. 

Journal Entry

The only thing I can say about the time I threw up over the side of a truck bed and saw my morning mini wheats splatter between the stiff blades of country grass is that my insides knew paradise before I did. It took me months to sink myself that easily into the farm and let it absorb me like it did my upchuck. That was the spring my Gran gave up on me and regifted my orphaned self to her cousin Samuel, and it was the spring I fell in love. Fell in love with solitude, that is. I became happy there, shoveling manure and having one sided conversations with animals and tractors. I don’t regret how long it took me to accept that I was meant for lonely farm life, because I know a part of me knew it was perfect all along. That’s why my gut threw itself at the farm the second the long ride from the city was over. The sick feeling I’d had in my stomach the whole trip wasn’t nausea like I thought. It was anticipation.