with child's eyes

she carries the stamp of the divine.
it's on her fingerprints.
it runs off on everything she touches-
like ink.
no one has told her yet
that she is no artist
and so an artist she is.
she builds treehouses 
out of scrap paper poetry,
scatters seeds,
waits for the birds to come-
meadow lark,
swallow,
chickadee.
blackbird with bohemian dreams.
she has yet to learn
which are supposed to belong 
and so she has space for them all.
paper and lace
suitcase
fireplace
she sits at the window
lost in library pages.
no one has told her yet
that her best friends cannot be literary
and so these pages are the nest 
from which she will learn to fly.
but she has time.
and those days she paints letters
on the branches of trees-
they will teach her
who she is meant to be.

grow to the sky-
defy
gravity.
shelter me
in your library. 

half.

I do not want a half truth-
my creator is not a he. 

these words come from a part of me
I did not create alone.
and I will silence them no more.

I am a poet, a maker,
feminine image
of our creator 
and I will not check those things
at the door.

I will silence them no more. 

roaches

he is a nice enough guy- slick hair, polished shoes

and she’s pretty good at keeping up with the laundry.

the kids are cute- all freckles and missing teeth,

they traipse mud through the house

it’s difficult to keep the floor clean.

he’s out late again tonight,

driving his car down side streets

but she never waits up anymore.

doesn’t want to see him wash the quiet secrets from his face

before he climbs in and soils her sheets.

her eyes close to the sound 

of his shame, her own denial…

these roaches-

crawling under the darkened shades of family life.

they make their home in the cracks of her’s.

but she knows tomorrow,

she will let them stay.

song of the honey bee

if you talk sweet enough,

you can usually get your words to

drip like honey from a spoon-

you can convince a swarm of bees

to follow you around…

but words don’t bring the rainfall,

don’t make the seasons change or the trees grow tall,

words alone won’t coax the tender seed

into becoming what it was meant to be,

won’t fix the spaces of earth

we’ve walked destructively.

Only love can do that-

for love is tender where talk is only sweet.

button

we tried making sense of our world. we ate strawberry jam for breakfast, we dragged our stuffed pets behind us on strings, we jumped on trampolines. we found a jungle in our backyard- the ballerina, the fireman and me. we swung from the branches of trees, took in long car drives from the back seat, invited the garden fairies for a cup of sugary tea.

we tried making sense of our world. we built sandcastles to house our unanswered questions- most of which we had inherited before we’d even learned to spell. we didn’t always know where to take them so we took them to each other. or they took them to me. they (the cinnamon-bun-boy with the trusting eyes, the girl with the bangs and the most eager smile) they were mine to care for.

And I (the girl who wished away her freckles) I told stories in the dark to chase away their unwelcomed dreams. I grasped at broken branches, at cobwebs, at any water droplets I could reach- trying to button something together they could stand on. I so meant to be the fearless leader. Always hoping they wouldn’t notice the holes in my sneakers, wouldn’t notice that my worldview was just a few sizes too big.

a psalm in two parts

1. 
to 
leave 
behind 
is to
      grieve

2.
to 
start
afresh
is to
      believe

soft-cover suitcases

I will give my daughter a home 
in these forests of ink, towering
towards a folded paper sky.
I will give her the opening pages-
her mama's heart, her daddy's pleasure
write her name in the empty spaces
until she learns to stand.

I will give her my soft-cover suitcases
mostly filled with hopes and dreams
(whatever that means)
and some paper thin memories.

I will read them to her on quiet days
so she can hear
what's whispered in the turn of the winds
i will give her a strand of desert beads
(parched paper and leaves)
to bind her hand to mine 
until she's ready to break free
and write

the deep-blue
deep inside 
electrifying, fear-denying
story we hope she'll one day lead
(her daddy and me)

but these are just words. 

this city i call my home.

welcome to Vancouver
population: a hierarchy
of inequality

this city I call my own...

from the windows of my rented home
I watch the birds fly off and away
to the nests they've built in the 'burbs
can't help but think it's a little absurd...
you know, 
some of my neighbours can't afford to stay

in this 
landscape of decay
values in dis-array
this city I walk everyday

this city I call my own...
home. 

quake

souls awake

quake

shake

make room

for genuine connection 

with another's imperfection

make room so you can see their beauty

through your own blind eyes

souls awake

quake

shake 

make time

make space in your mind

so you can hear the hearts that beat

down the darkest of streets 

where humanity sits, expecting to be ignored

yes 

souls awake

and shake 

with desire for what you know to be true-

that all who are different from you

also long to be known.

souls awake

quake 

shake 

make friends

with that familiar pair of searching eyes

you almost daily walk right by

as they seek help beyond what you're willing to give

souls awake

quake 

shake

make shown

let it be known

that the hope that pulled you out alive

still thrives-

hopes to teach us how to rebuild our lives

yes, 

souls awake

and shake

with the knowledge

that there's beauty in what lies dormant here

there is beauty in what lies dormant here

we learn, as we draw near

we can rebuild these ruins. 

Refuge Refused

I'm not sure why we treat you like this...

when I came to your country
you gave me early mornings
and long warm days
boat rides across the lake
colour woven into braids
a warm welcome, a request to stay
[REFUTED]

I tried to speak to you,
managed a song or two
always the gringa...
I guess that's just how this story goes
[UNDISPUTED]

you haven't even finished your story
[MUTED]
and now that you've made it here
I really must ask you to leave.

there's no time to re-imagine
we are tied to the system.
[REFUGE REFUSED...
UNDISPUTED]