Writing

The day my brother moved into an assisted living facility, I felt sad and angry. I taught a class that night, Next to Ed’s Real Scoop. I went home with 2 pints of Toronto’s best ice cream In my saddle bags. Pumpkin and Ginger. Yesterday, I had potato chips with a sandwich. Life is short.

Never before have I spent so much time Wishing for time to pass. Big chunks of it, goodbye. I am lonely, stuck inside the gelatinous mass Otherwise known as the space-time continuum.

Why? What will I see? The future. My head is heavy. I look down.

So much time, so little energy. Stupid thoughts swirl around alongside the profound. What does the beer company think of the name?

The playground has yellow caution tape across the entrances. Wrapped around the swings and play structures. At one gate, the tape has been ripped in half. It flutters in the wind. The rusty hinges creak, crooked, not used to being closed. They blow open at the slightest excuse for a breeze. I think, Alfred Hitchcock […]

My neighbour’s daughter is Hope. Hope is four. She tells me she is learning hockey. From her Parisian parents who have never skated. In her muddy backyard. With ball hockey sticks from behind the shed. Hope shows me her helmet. It is hand knit, with monkey ears peeking over the top of the fence.