fragments of poems and some photographs.
. . .
Her look flattens to a nickel. I put brackets to hold the thought,
Put back the gowns she's pulled from the cupboard, put her in bed,
Search for deep breaths in the outline of a kidney-shaped pan.
Text comes from beside me in the dark: we are going to need a sedative soon.
I mute my volume and reply: totally. we should get one for Mom too.
You can only be mad at a person in a hospital bed for so long.
. . .
is a 10- minute spoken-word poem performed as part of Dance Marathon
questions spill out of your little Clara Bow mouth like diamonds
and your whole face is a soft rabbit skin purse
my grandmother gave me when I was nine
it is my first vacation and your eyes are the twinkling stars on that camping trip
and roasting marshmallows and what it was like to have a family
before it all
I separate my life into what I think it interesting and what I think is boring and sometimes I think I am wrong and that I am missing the beautiful moments.
pale blue beginnings of a sky
hover over the still sleeping buildings
the cars on the rain-slicked street
make the sound of bread bags being opened.
raining kids sleeping hot coffee embers of another life
hidden alleys and works in progress,
The alleys of Montreal are the veins of the city and ghosts and memories are its invisible tumbleweed.
. . .