Memory Film of Point Roberts Summer of ‘98 and the russet hatchback swings into a narrow, flower lined driveway. Poppies, lavender, chrysanthemums intertwine to create a marbled smudge, a watercolor painting. Further on the indigo, wind-blown log cabin perched upon a bluff blends in to the sky beyond, a two-dimensional backdrop, dangerous, a sharp… Continue reading Poem: Memory Film of Point Roberts
The Dark The slammed door disrupts dust particles and cobwebs which dance across your face and into your nose. You almost sneeze, almost, but you hold it in. You stand there as the cloak of darkness and ever-present silence engulf you. You’re shaking, but only slightly, and the tabby presses close to you, silent as… Continue reading Part Nine: The Dark
The Entrance You walk up the cracked concrete steps towards the imposing, ink stained door. Unlike before, the tabby is close at your side, his tangerine fur grazing your jeans. He seems somber, subdued. Frightened. Does he know what lays beyond the door? Though it is august, the air has become decidedly cool, and you… Continue reading Part Eight: The Entrace
At 3 a.m. At 3 a.m., I am not alone in my room. Shadows from cars, or something more sinister, glide across my bedroom wall. Somewhere from deep within the house, a clock ticks, a slow, ominous, persistent sound, that warns me of time rolling on. At 3 a.m., something screeches, a jarring sound… Continue reading Poem: At 3 a.m.
The House You walk over to the gate, run your hand over the rough, cold metal, rusted with age and weathering. You give it a push, it sticks, you push harder. It gives way with a grating sound, like nails on a chalkboard. You remember your grade four English teacher doing the same to get… Continue reading Part Seven: The House
Erased Sitting in your favorite seat next to the window at my favorite coffee shop, looking out at the strangers passing by in the blistering August heat, I realize that I no longer remember the exact color of your eyes or what your voice sounded like. I realize that this does not upset me,… Continue reading Poem: Erased
The Gate The vines grab at you as you pass through, they cling to your shirt and your neck. You manage to untangle yourself and head forward, the wet snuffling sound getting louder as you move further down the path. The sun is trying to push its way through the canopy of vines twisted over… Continue reading Part Six: The Gate
Inconvenient Teleportation It is August. You sit on the grass in your favorite park, the sun bearing down on your pale skin, but you are cold. You think you can see frost accumulating on your fingertips, the fine film cracking slightly as you flex your fingers. You are more curious over your current predicament than… Continue reading Inconvenient Teleportation
Words, and Nothing More I tell you that I love you only because the words feel so foreign to me, bitter tasting and sharp edged, a heavy burden I do not want. I tell you that I love you only to disconnect the words from my body.
The Path The girl and the tabby guide you toward the front door: past closed doors, trinkets of indeterminate age, the oak cabinets in the kitchen, the critical eyes of the ancestors. You are close to the front door, and the smell of hyacinths drift through a nearby window. You are almost out. The bag… Continue reading Part Five: The Path