Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Wisdom Teeth

I'm slurping Jello inbetween my front teeth and thinking about when we were little girls. Every Sunday after church we'd convince our parent's to take us kids out for lunch. A gigantic buffet of Chinese/Canadian food at our fingertips. You had a more exotic pallet than that, but this was cheaper than authentic Chinese cuisine. We'd dangle our fingers in the fish tank, and wait for one of the vibrant, mustached fellows to grab hold like a suction cup. We'd eat far too many chicken balls with sweet red sauce and hold our stomachs in anticipation. We'd discover what kind of animal we were on the placemats, and make fun of whoever had to be the rat. I'm pretty sure you got a good animal, like a horse, or a tiger. We wouldn't finish our icecream, and when it melted, we'd drink the leftovers like soup. And then we'd go back to the buffet, and with our brothers and your sister, we'd pile cubes of jello in little bowls, and suck out little tubes of it with straws. We'd take one extraction of yellow jello, and put it inside of a green piece, we'd put red in blue, we'd build squiggly creations on the inside of each irradescent block. I don't know that we ever actually ATE much of the jello. Then we'd steal some candies from the front desk, shove them in our pockets, and leave with bloated, satisfied stomachs.

Now, I'm taking tiny spoonfuls, pushing it softly against the ridges on the roof of my mouth. My swollen face hurts, and consuming this stuff -what IS Jello?- isn't easy. I'm an adult now, and I don't PLAY with Jello. I EAT IT.

How are you now, anyway?

Monday, February 21, 2011

Word of the 'week':


My bed isn't squishy enough

You know the words, "Take heart, stay strong"
They're actually nice sounding words.
Even when you strip the meaning away,
they still have a special effect when they roll off the tongue.
I realized why I've been hiding under my North-American sheets tonight..
There's so much pain everywhere in the world, even here.
It feels huge enough to have an immigrant dressed for the wrong season ask me for spare change to feed her family on a placid, grey, Canadian winter day.
It feels huge enough to pull over on the way home so an ambulance can swiftly pass to get to whichever emergency they are heading towards.
It feels huge enough to read about a 15-year old girl being beaten to death nearby.
It feels huge enough even when it's just me, alone, crying.

I feel guilty that so many movies are about the United States being picked on (and I'm right on top of them, so I feel like I'm in it with the boys), like they're the only ones who have it bad.

Pain is pain.

Whatever rating you want to give it on a scale of 1 to 100.

And I hate to be weak, but I purposely shut out much of the world's pain so I can function in my fairly regular, provided for, comfortable, and spoiled North American life.

Sometimes it's painful to be so pampered.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

We bite the hand that feeds us

It hurts to hear you cry and to not be there with you
I hate to make you cry
My words are unleashed, vicious, second-hand
They've passed through me- a strainer
But they're still starchy and when they hit you they sting

I'm sorry I'm so afraid

I had no idea I had been this wounded

I'm like a hunting trap, ready to spring shut
on you
while you approach me with intention
Not to break me, but to disarm me...even if it means letting my jaw bite

And then, after you've pulled my clenched teeth apart,

I'll smile at you.

Because that's a lot nicer than biting.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010


Love is dark, and love is deep
It's hard to find, and it sure ain't cheap.

Love is true, and love is raw
It's hard to see, but I'm sure that I saw

when it walked across your face.

Your love is full of fables,
petal-less daisies and names carved in high school classroom tables

Your love is a promise I must make, a claim I mean to stake,
one gaze I cannot shake

Your love.

Love is warm, and love is sweet
It's hard to prove, doesn't come with a receipt

Love is pure, and love is clear
It's hard to keep, but I'm sure I was sincere

when it danced across my mouth.

Your love is full of rainfall,
shameless statements and names carved in public bathroom stalls.

Your love is a promise I must make, a claim I mean to stake,
one gaze I cannot shake

Your love.

I'm alright.

I need a healthy dose of something...
I don't know what.
As long as it's healthy.

My room looks like a battle just died out.
Now I have to bury the remains
under my bed, in closets and drawers.

My cat is sulking around the house:
I haven't snuggled her enough.
It's been a few months of casual walk-by pettings.

I forget how to write songs.
All that leaks out are cheap little poems
and rodeo-active pop.

I've taken to eavesdropping,
I don't like to start conversations anymore.
I just join in on existent thoughts.

I'm alright. I'm alright.

Monday, July 19, 2010

you rock my world.