Friday, October 29, 2021


I've forgotten how seasons work.

I lie in bed and count months on my fingers
no that's too many 

there are four seasons
and three fours equal twelve so
three months a season, yes? 

"that math checks out"
I say to myself 
and so DecemberJanuaryFebruary must be Winter, right?
but there's overlap, 
and fire 
is a season now 
and three quarters of a month before a week 
is a new season
and the counting starts again
JanuaryFebruaryMarch no that's not right 
start again

start again
start again

what I think I know for certain 
is that I've forgotten how seasons work
when they change

which months they hold

because I'm tired
and all the things I used to know are gone

and I'm left with mountains of worry
about things that don't

and I lie in bed and count on my fingers
realizing I've forgotten how the seasons work
and one day's cold
the next is not
and I think we're still in Spring
you know?

Wednesday, June 30, 2021

"Our Home And Native Land (But Not Really)"

Red dresses

Orange shirts
Yellow bellied churches with press releases mumbling
"Mea culpa, mea culpa,
but don't look too closely, don't look behind the curtain sorrysorrysorry whoops!"

And still so many sneer "Injins" and bitch about "government handouts"
immune to the truth of babies taken
and their lives taken from them
immune to the reality of murdered and missing Indigenous women

overlooked and

And here I stand
seeing some
(not all)
driving down highways of red dresses
wearing orange shirts for lost children
and wondering how why what of the past we will own
and how
we heal from
so much
too much


Sunday, June 20, 2021


Today the sun stops at a balance point 

for a breath
a moment
a time
and we look to the coming season, be it heavy
be it light
and all the build up lead us here

the longing
the waiting
the time

and time turns 

as does the earth 
without cease
without fail
without us

But today
there is a balance
both short and long
both cold and hot
both light and dark
for solstice.

Blessed Be.

Friday, April 16, 2021

"Carefully Taught"

I am broken into pieces that I don't know how to pick up
I am broken by the all of this
the hate
the anger
the intolerance
the division
I am broken by the brokenness 
I am broken by it all
we are fighting each other to stay alive
we are fighting each other to stay alive
we are fighting each other to stay alive
it's broken
too much
how do you keep breathing
when there's no way forward
how do you keep breathing
when it's us versus them versus them versus us
how do you keep breathing when there's a knee on your neck
held down
held down
held down
we train whites to kill children in school with guns
and we train police
to kill people
that they don't like.

Tuesday, April 13, 2021

Two Hours Before The Hail

the wind brings me raindrops

from clouds not yet overhead

and I watch them hit the windowpane 

while the last of the plum blossoms

fly directionless and free-form to the ground.


"It's chilly for April" we say quietly

not wanting to incur the wrath of Summer's heat

quite yet


and that wind has bite - 

leaving cheeks rosy with colour

and hands pulled up into sleeves

or pushed down into pockets deep


the rain a momentary instance


still snow

still ice

still life

to come.

Saturday, April 10, 2021

Let's Be Giants

Let's be giants

we'll take our giant hands

and build giant buildings next to skyscrapers made of wood


and we'll wonder why no one sees the toys left around like Lego bricks 

and guy wires made of candy floss

and we'll play giant games


our giant feet stomping through the city making valleys where we walk


Let's be giants

and build things

with our hands the size of cars

and our laughter loud like thunder

and our hearts beating thick and heavy

full of joy and pain and emotions made ever bigger by our size


Let's be giants

and curl up together

our backs against the hills

our faces to the ocean

knowing more adventures await us in the morning

as we leave behind the buildings we made

standing next to skyscrapers

made of wood.

Saturday, March 20, 2021

A Place I've Yet To Be And Have Been Before

I smell your smoke

through air thick with ocean
and your wildness drifts in through the open window of my room.

I can't think, if I'm honest, 
of any times I've camped without a fire
but we're not near a campground here 
so I wonder why I smell your smoke,
where your fire is,
and if you're staying warm
on this damp Spring evening
with air so thick with ocean
it carries the scent of your smoke
and the image of your fire
straight through my open window.