Urban Escape

How to escape the urbanity of artisanal beards and authentic gym-made muscles by working the land, working the earth then be rewarded with callouses, whole body aches, trickles of blood—which sound like discomfort, yet are still more tolerable than ails garnered from a desk job because it makes sense to wince when branches of prickly ash whip across my face or wild rose thorns jab through clothes into skin whereas I can't solve the mystery of why my lower back aches from sitting in front of a computer. Unlike purchased authenticity, the real thing often makes you bleed.

Inspired by La feuille d’or. Photo by Fred Ni.

La feuille d’or

Dear yellow-orange leaf, there you blow.

It pains me to see you, such resistance I have to your change. 

I know you will flood me with warm days and cool nights. 

With sights and colours that leave me in awe.

But on this sweet September morning, I don’t want you to be there. 

This hazy breeze will soon be no more. 

The childhood freedoms that recirculate through our veins will recede again.

The serious Fall and fridged Winter, they twinge my heart. 

You will fall dear leaf but you are not dead.

Resting in a deep sleep, awaiting your rebirth.

Inspired by Out the Window. Photo by Wendy Whelan

Perchance to Dream

I woke up this morning dreaming I’d just won the lottery; even though I can’t remember the last time I played it for real. I dreamed myself photocopying my tickets (just in case I lost them) and I got to wake up wondering how I was going to spend all the money I’d won . . . all of which I took as a sign, especially since the jackpot hadn’t been won in a while and today was the day of the draw. My premonition even told me how many tickets to buy.
     Wouldn’t this have been a better story if I’d actually won?

Inspired by Beatitudes. Illustration by Bryant Arnold.

Beatitudes

Because Julie gave him honey, he blesses her bees.  He also blesses her, and if I'm outside he blesses me too. He gives us a set of magical numbers and a task. Last time it was, “Complete what you started!” So, I cleaned and organized my office.  Once he shouted, “1-1-1-1!” I checked my email: 111 unread messages.
     Julie, Angelika, and I are his disciples and welcome his daily affirmations. After he passes, will his image appear in a Dr. Oetker pizza? Will we hang tiny shopping carts around our necks as symbols of faith? Is this how it starts? 

Inspired by A Woman Rebuts the Minister of Virtue and Vice. Photo of Drugstore Jesus by L. Leclair.

A Woman Rebuts the Minister of Virtue and Vice

You say God is great and we are all God’s creatures. Yet you treat us like we are God’s mistake. 

     Consider what you can see of me. 

     You cannot tolerate the shape of my body because it excites you.

     Nor gaze upon my face because it enamours you.

     Nor stand the sight of my hair because it arouses you. 

     Now, you silence my voice because it tempts you.

     Oh, hate-filled little man—a woman is not a living vice, a mistake.

     You blame your weakness on women and stone us for it. 

     Assuredly, God knows His one mistake was you.

Inspired by Say No More. Photo by Wakil Kohsar.

Out the Window

No seatbelt, cool night air from open windows, lying on the backseat, the rhythmic flicker of yellow street lights seen through closed eyelids.
     From the 504 on King, workers spill out from office towers, pent-up energy free at last, buzzing, clustering, weaving—a pub patio awaits.
     Sky watching on the way to Grand Bend, clouds part, a ray shines down like The Ten Commandments, wind turbines on farm fields silhouetted against a pink twilight.

Along the 401, the wild flowers in the ditches—a meditative blur of purple, white and yellow. So much life even in the dullest of landscapes.

Inspired by Passenger. Photo by Zoteva.

Passenger

In the dark, I try to think about something else
and not think about Rocky in his dogbed
coughing and settling
coughing and settling

If I could replace Rocky’s heart, he would still be he
If I could replace his lungs, he would still be he
If I could replace his cloudy eyes
his insensitive eardrums
his shattered knees
he would still be my Rocky

His body will fail him but his body is not who he is
His body is an old car, running down
If I could just open the door
take the passenger out
keep him safe


Inspired by Misko and his Sister from Another Mister. Photo by Fred Ni.

Say No More

You whittle me down with your snide remarks.
Sub-terrain, I’m surfing now.
Always something to say, to sear me, to expose me.
To make me cry inside. 
You say you’re sorry, it was just fun, but we both know. 
It’s your judging ego.
You think you’re clever and funny.
But you’re a gaping hole. 
Like a dead star, with no light to give.
Combusting of toxic narcissism.
You’ll play nice again for a short while.
Say the right things, taking secret actions. 
Sell yourself a bill of integrity. 
But buying rotting goods. 
You’ll live in denial and die there too. 

Inspired by Like Cats and Dogs. Photo by Joachim Schnürle.

Like Cats and Dogs

I liked cats, but she liked dogs. A real dog person.

     And it showed.

     She tried so hard to be happy, all the time. But when something did go wrong, she was the first to apologize. Just not to me.

Even if she thought someone had screwed her over, she’d still go out of her way to make everything right again. Unless it was me.

     She practically begged for approval, but not from me.

     In all her relationships, she was oh so happy just to be part of the pack. But in ours, she made it clear who was Alpha.

Inspired by Misko and his Sister from Another Mister. Image from some random YouTube video.

Misko and his Sister from Another Mister

Where are you, my old friend? I looked for you in all your favorite spots—Mom’s office, in my puppy bed by the window and even downstairs where the scary roundy-round-soap-monster lives. I wanted more games of Peek-a-Boo, ’Round the Chairs, Under the Table, Over the Lazy Brown Dog. One more drink at our water bowl where I'd pretend to be a wolf, and you a lioness.
      Just one more snuffle. Maybe even a scratch.
     I was your Owl and you my Pussycat on our Pea Green couch-Boat. I’m glad I kept you warm while you sailed away.

Inspired by Sister Warriors. Photo of Willow’s last night by Laurie.