i.
Spine twists into pomegranate streets
no words for deformed faces, desecrated
bodies not yet covered in white.
Hope drips from tips of fingers moulding home
in the glitter of rooftop cries to god
in a dua blown into jasmine wind
in a bullet blasting inside a woman’s chest.
Hope drips in battered limbs between
batons, broken bones across
broken earth. Home.
poetry
This Wide Summary of Cities
Standing under the confused solution of this sky
I take in the rain. A woman whirls on a hoop.
The smokers under a canopy, coughing. Umbrellas
are useless, in this wind. Everyone is wet, faces
shining, rueful. Graffiti dissolves a question.
All the places we dreamed of living, and here
we are. This wide summary of cities,
itself and everywhere. I accept its rain.
Published in TOK: Writing the New Toronto, Book 7. Purchase the book to read the full piece.
Toronto/Week
Journey lights Advertisements Head Head Head Head He Window Window Window Window Win Ad Person Person Person Person Per ver Person Person Person Person Per tise Person Person Person Person Per leg leg leg leg Bag leg leg leg leg leg
Published in TOK: Writing the New Toronto, Book 7. Purchase the book to read the full piece.
where you’re going
the path
you have taken:
shanghai to hong kong
hong kong to montreal
montreal to
toronto
parkdale to little portugal
little portugal to university and elm
university and elm to
3 a.m.
to 5 a.m. tides withdraw
from each meridian, that ocean
here to claim you, now you as always in
between.
Published in TOK: Writing the New Toronto, Book 7. Purchase the book to read the full piece.
The Tragic Square Dance
Helium rainbows, romantic drums, Buzz Lightyear going boldly to Sesame Street, Garage bands, trees, pink choo-choo-trains, Elton John fiddles a tea party of spring. But, alas, this vision falters. Teachers! Calling reprimands. Clapping beavers, Forcing constant repetitive skills. These random words, awkward turtles, In a flash are sent to West Mabou. But hark! This injustice is over! Students prove the teachers wrong by calling War! War! Fight the power! Ireland, Scotland, Canada— The drums! A screaming sentinel shrouds his comrades, A shifty servant of espionage. First brother horse sees the message: A round of simpletons approach. But this convoy is a mere distraction. Pianos, as Beethoven, filling outer space! The keys are fired and in a flash, An orchestra of lasers signifying pain. The rebels fire their sugar cubes; Gymnastics of the underworld, fragmented with pins. As this tragic square dance begins, The world of children is banished forever.
Growing Up in the Suburbs of Toronto
Growing up in the suburbs of Toronto my earliest memory was taking the transit downtown I remember begging my parents for a window seat on the bus, a small hand against the dirt-ridden pane catching my fading reflection staring back street lights being blinded by the sun I remember the elevator up the C.N. Tower My heart against my chest and parents’ smiles, and standing on the glass floor looking down at people tinier than me walk by. I remember being scared, of something I didn’t understand. I remember the ferry rides to Centre Island waves in the lake smaller than me, slipping under the boat me rocking the boat, rocking the lake. I remember the Eaton Centre, as it swallowed me whole, and how it surprised me to see, all the legs their feet and their shoes sandals and slippers and I remember looking up, through the glass ceiling, (as the sun’s rays cascaded through and through) at birds that sailed on a higher plane. I remember the cold water of Lake Ontario, and swimming out, while my parents got in only shin-deep and stood the size of my thumb. I remember beads of water, some easing off my face others resting and the waves cradling me to and from shore. I remember the stars— little bulbs that God switched off when the sun came up— and I remember the moon, still made of cheese. I remember flashes of the subway (and eyes closing) and the bus (and eyes closing) my feet moving my mind frozen (and eyes closing) being wrapped under the blanket, the cold comfort of the pillows (and eyes closing.) Today, I remember everything as it moves to my peripheral (eyes closing) and I rush like after busses at their stops and trains at their stations to write it down (eyes closing) because tomorrow’s a new day and tomorrow I might forget. Eyes closed.