close the curtains over the moon, it’s time to go to sleep buenasera my beloved. and once you are gone, I’ll draw back the hallowed curtains, the moon reflecting my face, and I will kiss the window pane and whisper, ‘vanity is a virtue.’ and I will bathe myself in heathen light and I will blow pink spheres over my bared body delight in the only forever left when the sun shines, my darling, we’ll do dancing selflessly together and I’ll be in Puerto Rico with the officer of my dreams. but when the sun tumbles quickly down I’ll leave you swallow the moon samba with the stars when I’m lonely, I feel forever rebound against the fractures of my hands.
Shorthand
Forever
Forever unhappy Forever alone Forever in pain Forever a stone Forever a lie Forever I cry Forever I stay hidden inside Forever decaying, no heart remaining Forever ashamed, no one to blame Forever more, a closed door Forever is not something I want to live for.
High Horse
Combing the smooth, snow white tail of a tall albino pony A figure of chastity I look into its eyes and struggle with my addictions. It feels good when it’s tracking my veins And running right through me So fast it takes over my mind. I depend on it to soothe me, Like soup for my sore, tightened heart, Like a wool sweater and socks For my cold self-belief Seeking snug plenty, curling up between my joints When it smells like burning leaves And seasoned monster flesh When chills run up and down my arms. Like invisible ants And I feel homeless Like the wind Bawling Plucking the leaves for tissues Only, they turn away gladly from their lofty homes in the hills To offer comfort, falling gingerly to the wind’s feet Ready at its beck and call. For me there is no one But the promise of whomever I choose. The promise of everyone And a guarantee of distraction. You sketch for me a forest of evergreens An emblem to trust that I can remake myself. I can last forever. And there’s a sudden burst of sun in the background. The landscape comes off the page and into life. We’re in it. It momentarily lightens the shadows of our actuality When it fills the rolling, unreasonable uprising Between the earthy tones of my shelter Aglow with pools of candle light And the fluorescent rifts you create that I can’t stop hallucinating about. You feed me white sticks, Fill my lungs with smoke —the only way I let you in— And the taste of bones. You’re my dream mood, The flavor of rebellion, And the first person to make me want to Snap my pen in half making ink splatter every which way, Prick myself with your thorns, Dig my nails into my upholstered skin and scrape off the prettiness, Climb down from my Ivory Tower, Jump off my High Horse. Away from everything . . . Including you. Say whatever you want, Say it all. It doesn’t have to be coherent. It never is when you open your mouth. You’re all over the place Thinking you’re servile enough for me to return. I said I was struggling with my addictions, Not that I was giving into them.
Single Word Inspiration
The writing exercise I would recommend to anyone is to set a timer for 5 or 10 minutes. Choose a random word from a handy book, start the timer and write, inspired by this word, without stopping or crossing out until the timer goes off. Read it out loud. This is a good way to tap into what’s going on in your unconscious and to also have the freedom to write without the pressure of being good or perfect. It’s an exercise from Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones.
You Look Great Too
MAGGIE’s living room. SHE and SALLY are surrounded by paperwork from MAGGIE’s back taxes. THEY take a break; having a few glasses of wine while playing a favourite game of “My House.”
MAGGIE
My house . . . My house is one of those big old places on Palmerston. No . . . Brunswick! The kind that’s been divided into twelve tiny apartments. But we knock down the dividing walls and rip out the extra doorbells—
SALLY
Who’s we?
MAGGIE
My husband and I.
SALLY
Oh.
MAGGIE
Anyway, we are both so successful in our careers that we are able to pay for this house in cash.
Sally
Yowza!
MAGGIE
I know. We renovate and decorate. We turn it into a comfortable home and a showplace for entertaining. The neighbours say it’s the best the house has ever looked and everyone says how great it is that we never have to move no matter how many kids we have.
SALLY
How man—
MAGGIE
Three. But I only have to get pregnant twice because the two youngest are twins. I get my figure back right away without even trying [SALLY tries to interject but MAGGIE is on a roll. SHE becomes more and more frenzied to the end of the speech] and the best part about our house is that we live a block away from where Adam is still living in his dingy basement apartment. Every day, he walks home from the subway in his Canada Customs uniform and he cringes at the possibility of running into me and or my secure, successful, gorgeous husband and our equally gorgeous children as we push them in their multiple stroller or drive them around in our four door, four by four, limited edition, red Jeep Grand Cherokee!
MAGGIE
He has to move. And not just to another neighbourhood. He moves out west. To BC. There, he tries his best to forget me, but the woman he marries always has a sneaking suspicion that he’s had this one true love that he secretly keeps comparing to her.
On his dying day, he murmurs my name in that bittersweet way that says he was richer for knowing me but is filled with the deepest regret for ever hurting me.
SALLY
You spend way too much time alone.
MAGGIE
I know.
Author of the Month: Marcia Johnson
Tell us about yourself.
I’m a bit of a late bloomer. The older I get, the more confident I feel of my abilities and the more deserving I feel of success. In my younger years, the slightest disappointment or routine rejection would set me back for months or years. I’m happy to say that I’m now much better at letting things roll off my back.
When did you realize you had a passion for writing?
I’ve always dreamed of writing. I loved books that came in series such as the Anne Shirley, Little House, and Narnia books. As a child, my goal was to write about my own series. Ten years into my acting career, I had the opportunity to collaborate on original pieces. This gave me the urge to write on my own.
What pieces of writing/authors have had the greatest impact on you?
Lynn Nottage is one of my favourite playwrights. She writes about such difficult and painful things like the plight of women in the Congo (Ruined) without ‘beating up’ the audience. She shows respect for the topic but folds in much-needed comedy and subplots.
I’m also a huge fan of Tony Kushner for his masterpiece Angels in America plays. This fantastical play addressed AIDS, homosexuality and homophobia in the eighties. These were issues dear to his heart and he shared them brilliantly.
How and when do you find time to write?
I like to write first thing in the morning before I talk myself out of it.
What has been some of the biggest challenges you’ve faced as a writer?
I learned the hard way to not read reviews.
How have you changed as a writer over the years?
I’m much better at writing dialogue and creating distinct voices for different characters. In my earlier work, the lead character (always based on me) had a lot of monologues and tended to have the last word. I hope that my interactions are more realistic now.