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Poetry

Ode to Morning

Nighttime sighs her last goodbyes, Sweet sunlight trickles in. I've never moved my arm so fast, This alarm makes such a din. My muscles ache, my eyelids burn, Don't ask about my head. If I must do this every day– I wish that I…

Two poems

November Rose Your friend cried because she was too busy to get sick, you dropped everything and crossed the room to kiss her forehead. I longed to catch her cold and wished I knew how to cry. Your taxi never came because I got the…

Dear Mr. Christianson

The letter I should have wrote to Mr. Christianson: Thank you for going to bat for me, for bending the rules, for talking the principal into letting me graduate even though technically, I had too many absences, for seeing my talent and…

Calesa

In Nanaimo, I take a cab to work. I spend the midnight shift serving subs, Japa-dogs, and gourmet poutine, to the slurring, swaying, bar crowd crying out for more pickles, less pickles, no onions, more sauce please, this isn’t what I…