On Canada Day, I try to do six things at once. Like always. pack a bagwrite a listpack another bagmake a callmake the snacks Something comes over me, as it sometimes…
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I’m nine years old. Childhood home. Mother’s house. The living room floor, late. I’m a secret down here, everyone asleep. Carpet, faded and worn. Headphones. Crossed legs. I play records…
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The following is a list of action steps for settlers to take towards the work of reconciliation. I offer deep gratitude to The On Canada Project http://www.oncanadaproject.ca for their information and advocacy,…
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A straight line. My house, to the train, to the airport. To security, and through it. Down an escalator, a coffee – too bitter – board the plane. I exhale…
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I’ve got my hands on the steering wheel of a shitty rental car. Frankie is buckled into her booster in the back seat. I’m smug. I’m on time. There’s the…
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January heartbreak is the worst kind. Nothing to buffer it. Days are shorter, dark is darker, and slush abounds. The walls are quiet. Stark. He was gone. Twenty-three years-old and…
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A bowl of dried-up Cheerios on the counter, flakes of croissant, cups of half-drunk coffee. Today is almost nine months since Easter weekend, when he and I knew that part…