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Notes Towards Recovery
HARTS & Minds: The Journal of Humanities and Arts
"We bought the silk in a little shop behind the Ottawa market where the salesman made us strong coffee and served us rose-flavoured sweets and it felt as if we’d left the country entirely. He charmed me into buying the silk even though I knew it wouldn’t be heavy enough to withstand daily use. It didn’t help that Milo designated this as his favourite napping spot, scratching himself a a patch in the middle of the sofa each afternoon, or that we put it right under the big window where the sun faded the deep cayenne to a dusty coral. . ."
After Ivan: Three Poems
HARTS & Minds: The Journal of Humanities and Arts
"There was nothing else after the hurricane
but the stench of rotting garbage
and loss.
So,
we fucked.
I dragged off
your shorts, pulled you down
onto that mattress, carried
from the mangrove, dirty
and swamp-water wet.
In the shell
of our house. . ."
Today’s front page mentions Stuttgart.
I thought of you. Remember when we tried
to visit; a protest march forced
​
us away from the city centre to a hillside
village and its half-timbered tavern. We drank
too much to drive on, so booked a room,
​
ordered more steins and dinner. Cheese spätzle
served in a chipped white bowl. We devoured
it; the fresh nutmeg clung to your kiss
​
over the malty beer, melted gruyère
and caramelized onions. We ordered
more to share. Your translation, Little Sparrow
​
became my summer nickname. When you left
I learned spätzle also means to slice,
to split, to break apart.