Discretionary Love

And your home is wonderful,  really, it is.  I would know; I spent my whole childhood trying not to break it, only to tremble on

The morning’s frost is the same colour as dry spit from an over practiced kiss we pretend means something about love instead of loneliness, and

“Did you notice? I wore a white t-shirt for you?” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Leaving me to expound upon the significance of virgin snow

My mother is putting one foot before the other, is being her sister’s keeper. Across the river, I bring a pineapple loaf to the pot

Noticing a pause where the wind should have continued, I responded, “I can do both, I can love him, and work too.” Her thin smile

I was wrong you can un love; unpick a seam. That which you yearn for no longer exists I myself, unpicked it. The cut and

What more               than idle hands  that make good on promises professed                by

The cylinder on the tea cart holds Arbutus beach glass some say sea glass and that is, perhaps, more fitting broken glass made beautiful surviving

The house cost a dollar in ’76. That was the lottery fee. You’d lost out on two or three before this one turned up: a

I cannot dissemble my broken heart and let the pieces become the sticks used to make a bonfire to keep you warm. I am so