SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Giving Notice - Friday, Sept. 29, 2017
Accepting Offers - Tuesday, Sept. 26, 2017
Indian/Polish Wedding - Thursday, Sept. 21, 2017
The Builder - Wednesday, Sept. 13, 2017
Rupert Part II - Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017


Monday, Mar. 14, 2005 @ 6:30 pm
Tenosynovitis



Nuclear summer, leafless trees
Sun stares down through skeletal branches
Wierd wide-eyed daisies vibrate,
And only we survived.

For when we fell in love is when the world caught on fire. The voices in my head quiet and fade away becuase I let myself feel. I read through my yellow index cards. I don't need to justify my love. When were you really happy? Your world is your creation, and it's a masterpiece of art. The space between the stars is filled with light. Sometimes in the reflection of somebody else we can see our own magnificence...

The sun in my eyes stings. Pupils constrict. My arm aches and smells strongly of camphor and lilac. My arm. For the first time I allow myself to be hurt. I cannot keep this up, the day-upon-day labour, elbow-deep in sawdust and mice. My tendons scream Fire! and I must rest.

On fire? No. I've burnt out. Smoke trails behind me as I jog slower and slower, lethargy settling into my resting limbs. How quickly things change.

I sit on a wooden chair in Chinatown, and Irene feels my wrist with her eyes closed. I memorize the contents of the rows of jars on the wall. Yam, ginseng, urchin, abalone, oyster...

I sit in an expensive leather dentist chair overlooking the West Vancouver seawalk. Kristine half-heartedly scales my teeth, "There's really not much to do in here."

I kneel in a carpeted physiotherapy office and Michelle wraps up my arm in layers of tape. Her hands are caring and her face I could look into forever. Maybe you are me in another reality. A reality where things actually worked out for me careerwise.

I sit on my broken Ikea chair in my Burnaby basement suite, typing and scrolling through the pages of Monster.ca with one hand. Chinese tea, bitter and earthy, I drown myself in it. Heeeeeaaaaaaal me. Please.


Roots | Shoots