Multitudes

Objects.

For several moments, we turned to the windows.

There were shades drawn.

We turned and.

For several moments when we turned we gathered information.

The windows were gone.

There were places of lights in places of lights.

Published in TOK: Writing the New Toronto, Book 7. Purchase the book to read the full piece.

Recommended

Centennial Year

Road hockey. Peter saw it transpire and was admittedly not that surprised by his father’s reaction. The neighbourhood kid—one of these red-headed Anglos whose parents resented the Greeks and Italians who lived in most of the homes now—had taken a wrist shot that sailed well past the net and struck Theodoros in the back of the head . . .

Dog

I dig a hole in the backyard. Grass stains my hands as I bury all my simple treasures; words and ribbons and bones. I pray that you won’t find them as I wait for night to fall so I can dig them out frantically, lay them out one by one to admire with fervent joy . . .