Walking Through Turquoise Laurie MacFayden’s third book of poetry continues to explore the secrets and flirtations mined in her previous titles, White Shirt and Kissing Keeps Us Afloat. The clumsy intricacies of relationships; things you want to shout from rooftops but can’t; that tickle in your gut the first time she calls you honey. MacFayden ponders a one-way […]
Ordinary who would ever believe looking into your ordinary eyes could stop me from breathing; that touching your scars could transport me to the stars who would ever believe two ordinary sets of hands could cartwheel to the moon and back, and again, and back then sleep in an ordinary bed in an […]
What would you say to your younger self? Dear Younger Me … A letter to myself Sunday, Nov. 6, 2-3:30 p.m. Latitude 53, 10242 106 St, Edmonton Six area writers have been invited to pen letters to their younger selves, whether as children or as young adults, and share these aloud with the audience, followed by a Q […]
your morning beauty your eyes in civil twilight the small of your back your sweet sweet kindnesses the love in your eyes seen through my eyes your quiet magic votre chapeau blanc votre chemise bleue your willingness your hopeful your aching rocking rhythm that flicker that grin that curling in you do when we entwine your mysterious […]
to make a river proud — i do not have the tools for this. river says yes, you do, child. yes you have eyes, ears, strong hands and a fine heart. you are my beloved and i will always be proud of you.
Other Lives And Dimensions And Finally A Love Poem My left hand will live longer than my right. The rivers of my palms tell me so. Never argue with rivers. Never expect your lives to finish at the same time. I think praying, I think clapping is how hands mourn. I think staying up and waiting […]
if i could come to where you are if i could touch your shining face if i could hold your broken hand if i could sit with you in the treetops my eyes grow dim but i could sculpt you in the dark and the stars, the stars are watching you even when night is […]
we had no boys at our parties just tea and cribbage sometimes a bowl of bugles beatles 45s and one glass of pop each if mom was in a good mood she loves you ya ya ya 8 days a week baby it’s you we hung off each other and slowdanced a clumsy box-step shuffle […]