Steps

I’m saying that winter is beating summer into a bloody pulp. I know I’m missing a couple of steps but bear with me: immediacy.

I’m building a house for us, just us, to occupy I know, I know, no steps, the skull-crushing fall, bear with me: whimsy

I asked if you were miserable, and you uncharacteristically said yes. That wasn’t right. You said I have no business saying or building, because I don’t know anything. Screw you. I’ll have you know that my problem’s not that I don’t know — it’s that I do know, but I just haven’t got it in me to stop the oncoming traffic, the stampeding current.

I am all variables of this equation: the clumsy foot, the flimsy stairs, the misjudged placement, the scream, the mechanism of gravity, the body bleeding out in the debris of rotting scaffolding.

That’s your cue — robin in the woods, scab on the wound. It’s good, smacks of something new, endorses distance — this bitter, meticulous forgetting.

I thought I’d never be able to live without you but looking back, you were right I can’t even see my footsteps in the leaves.

— Judy Fong, Macleans College

gossip

the flowers are telling tales in the street— next door, she’s packing her bags since a striped carnation is a striped carnation and so’s a yellow rose. her husband stands holding every other pure pink carnation, watching as she goes, and wondering if he should have picked her hyacinth instead. Across the road, the little boy’s picked every peony in the patch to take to the hospital for his mommy to hold. his father doesn’t know there’s an asphodel among his bouquet of daisies and soon he’ll be taking his darling chrysanthemums instead. the widow across the way has planted tulips in the window box this year, rumour has it she’s in love again. when I step outside, there’s a posy on my doorstep and a card with your name. turns out you’ve mixed the roses because you’ve never been in love and don’t know how it feels but you know there’s something special about me you’ve never encountered before. everyone says the best reply is anemone or apple blossom, to keep my distance and let you find your feet. yet if inside I am nothing but roses and forget-me-nots and honeysuckle at the thought of you, shouldn’t you not have to eavesdrop on flowers to be the first to know? Striped carnation—no Yellow rose—infidelity Pink carnation—love and apology Hyacinth—begging for forgiveness Peony—healing Daisy—good cheer Asphodel—death is coming Chrysanthemums—death Tulips—love