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

the menu in my heart is all wrong

my stare goes from the plate to the dainty language on the menu Golden Baskets, a tiny quintet of brittle pastry shells . . .  then back to my plate, and I wonder what my spice-obsessed hawker-stall friends in Bangkok would think of defrosted veggies baked in cardboard-stiff pastry cups on the Danforth, limits of Greektown, middle of a snowstorm . . .  Published in TOK: Writing the New Toronto, Book 5 . . .

No Longer on the Menu

I was surprised but not shocked when my Aunt Milda began to see her dead son up on the telephone pole outside her window in the mornings. At her age, anything was possible. I had to do something, and not just for her sake . . .