An assemblage of opposing little lines\u2014hyphens,
\ndashes, minuses, backslashes and underscores arranged into a chevron
\nor the slightly more intricate herringbone of an ascending
\nand descending set of stairs, a veritable Escher
\netching. Against a current going both ways, AC\/DC,
\nan archway is passed every so often, a natural pause.
\nFor a brief moment,
\neverything seemed possible.<\/p>\n
Outside at dawn, we are
\ntaking turns taking sips of heliotrope light
\nthrough a straw meant for slushies,
\ndelivering ice streams to the reticular formation
\nin the depths of our skulls. The impatiens bloom.
\nThe Haligonians skim a bit off the top of the morning, offering
\nit to us warmly to go, only or maybe precisely
\nbecause we will have been
\nthe only ones there.<\/p>\n
With the impulsivity of graphite in the margins, Returning the empties To make a sandwich involves a preparation, a willingness to be barked at or nicked with a very sharp blade. It requires an immunity to shame and humiliations and to fight tooth and nail to quit smoking, a loyalty to last year\u2019s pact to wear the patch. It demands that more be gained in the middle, filled out at the bottom and that something also be done about the top. *<\/p>\n A tab will disorientate and ultimately balloon you away from yourself entirely. Shallow breathing punctuated every so often with a sharp piercing gasp, as though remembering to come up for air. Underwater it is quiet, sounds from above are dampened and far away. You float, you are weightless. The opposite of how you felt in your prom dress. All the degrading words spat from sharp tongues in shouting, angry voices that you ever heard are dissolved, are taken back. Under the tongue, a tiny tablet reminds you it\u2019s all okay, you\u2019re okay, you\u2019re buoyant. In an insomniac forest In the back of my mind Where there stands Now, even the thought <\/p>\n <\/p>\n RAZIELLE AIGEN<\/strong> is a Montreal-born writer and artist with a B.A. in History and Contemporary Studies from Dalhousie\/King\u2019s University in Halifax, and is an alumna of The Writer\u2019s Studio at Simon Fraser University. Her poems appear in various publications, including Five:2:One<\/em>, Synapse<\/em>, and California Quarterly<\/em>. You can find out more on her website razielleaigen.com<\/a> and follow her on Twitter @ohthepoetry<\/a>. <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" It’s Complicated An assemblage of opposing little lines\u2014hyphens, dashes, minuses, backslashes and underscores arranged into a chevron or the slightly more intricate herringbone of an ascending and descending set of stairs, a veritable Escher etching. Against a current going both… Continue Reading
\nin the interval between The Ravishing
\nof Lol Stein & Summer Rain<\/em>,
\nwe go out looting Nova Scotia\u2019s pistachio-grey,
\ndulse-strung South Shore for driftwood,
\nrocks and vacated crab shells. Our pockets bulge.<\/p>\n
\nof altered egos, we will have broken
\nmost of the rules, groping for innocence
\nwithout a mythos or fire
\nescape in sight. Being off-season, we simply assumed Lunenberg
\nwould stay quiet (the subtle shudder
\nof a challenged taboo, will have sufficed as
\nour subjective truth). Looking back within
\nthe optics of internal logic, it will have just as soon be seen
\nas one of those things categorized as:
\nit’s complicated\u2014
\na stairway going both ways.
\n <\/p>\nMaking A Sandwich Underwater<\/h1>\n
\nIt takes a willingness to get all-dressed and love despite all the layered hurts.<\/p>\n
\n <\/p>\nSee Through<\/h1>\n
\nshe will have cut off all my hair
\nsaying, it unburies your face<\/em>.
\nUntil then I didn\u2019t know
\nI was so hidden under dreams
\nof one day becoming
\nsee-through.<\/p>\n
\nthere are fears of drowning
\nin a bowl of wonton soup
\nand that housekeeping may check
\nthe bedside table drawers
\nfrom time to time. Fears
\nboth fabricated and plausible
\nswimming against the current
\nof a suppressed urge
\nto climb into a braided loaf of bread
\nfrom time to time, just to see
\nwhat it would be like.<\/p>\n
\na chance to uncouple
\nyour departure from the world
\nand the wound it left behind,
\nthere are still seams to sew and unravel
\nand a stratosphere to darn one layer at a time.
\nWhich basically means to stretch
\nfor a good beyond measure, meaning
\njust that there are still corners
\nand pockets to reach into
\nand around, holes left
\nto dig and holes left to fill. Things to do
\nand wrinkles to make
\naround your eyes.<\/p>\n
\nof buttering toast saddens my insides,
\nconfirming our hungers are stale
\nand aligned.<\/p>\n
\n
\n