Harry frantically dialed the numbers on his cell-phone like a baby mashing buttons on a toy, all the while swerving about the road like an escaped convict who’d just acquired a vehicle.  His veins were pulsing, his eyes frantically smashing themselves into the sides of his temples looking for reasons as to why it happened.  Luckily for Harry, none of the usual beer-gutted traffic cops had taken the time to wake up and pull him over for doing 80 in a 50 zone.

(more…)

Some of the kids at school called my bear dumb.  I knew better, because I, along with my best friend Katie, was one of the chosen few the bear talked to.  Granted, he rarely responded to me and often stared at me with a glazed, blank expression on his face (this was before the dog chewed off his eyes), but I took his rather laconic behaviour as a sign of unusual depth for a stuffed animal.  After all, at least he wasn’t insufferably talkative like that stupid Liza Meh Teddy in my sister’s stuffed animal collection. (more…)

The blur of snowflakes seemed like a shower of stars shining through the high-beams of the old Chrysler mini-van. Looking out the side window I could see only my reflection and a few of the glowing green dials from the radio. It must have been two in the morning. As we raced past a small car that seemed to be snailing along, I looked over to my Grandpa sitting at the helm; he was never one to follow the posted speed limits. “Is this going to work?”

(more…)

I am perched on the corner of his bed. Watching the open doorway, everything outside is bathed by a yellow 40-watt bulb from the kitchen. The toilet flushes with its characteristic clunk clunk slosh. Rolling my hips to the left, I pull my black skirt a little higher on my legs. Adjusting my shirt, I pull up my red bra to increase the visible cleavage. My silver chain necklace, with a tiny heart pendant, hangs perfectly between my breasts. I hear Jay’s footsteps, and soon he is standing in the doorway. Slowly swinging my hair over my right shoulder, and blinking three times, I blow a red lipped kiss at him. He stops in his tracks, and inhales sharply. (more…)

Growing up

They just aren’t the sort of questions

you ask someone:

“Do you not like me?”

“Why do you roll your eyes

when you see me?” (more…)

One Bridge Near Redwater, Alberta

near redwater I can remember

the long bridge over

the north saskatchewan river (more…)

(Monologue)

A man in a black suit stands beside a tall barstool at centre stage.  There are three yellow spotlights and the man stands under the middle one.  He has a glass of wine.  There is a piano behind him.

Soft music is heard but no one is playing the piano.

I died in France.

Of course that wasn’t my goal.  It just happened that way.  People, most people, don’t choose the location of their demise.  They end up in hospitals or along the side of a dark highway.  They find their terminal scene set in a mineshaft or an over loaded ferryboat in the Philippines.  I doubt these are places that people have chosen or intentionally selected.  I’ve heard that most people die in their own beds.  That sounds nice.  Well, nicer than the bottom of a canyon or the sidewalk next to a high-rise apartment.  I died in Paris, the City of Lights, and as luck would have it I died in a cemetery although I am not buried in that cemetery. (more…)

Entire Life Of Hitchhiking

Cedar trees covered in snow

The clean light of winter

A car on the road (more…)