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

Two Years

I can hear the black flies, the campfire, the light. At the chapel— the one with the green roof— my grandfather’s name is fading At night inside, the moths trapped inside the walls are dead and the book where I read: The men who moil for gold is misplaced . . .

Switch

Snazzy pauses at the corner of a brick building at the edge of Moss Park. The ground reeks of pee and puke. Looking upward, she sees the tip of the steeple on the old stone church . . .