These words are at the centre of The Parlour Project: Spider, Fly and Web, the first collaborative initiative practiced by The Wolf Lab, founded by Amber Dawn Bellemare.
Bellemare, who studied communications and First Peoples studies at Concordia, is a former sex worker and is currently the program animator for the Truth, Healing and Reconciliation for the Canadian Unitarian Council (CUC). The CUC brings together followers of Unitarian Universalism who affirm the worth and dignity of every person. They value justice, equity, and compassion in human relations. They seek peace, respect, and acceptance of one another in a global community, or an “interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part”, according to their website.
The Parlour Project stems from these values. Her past documentary work focused on telling others’ stories, and this auto-ethnography will be the first time Bellemare focuses on her own, welcoming viewers into her parlour. The artist documented her health and wellbeing before and after rendez-vous’ with clients, which revealed a full range of emotions.
The Parlour Project, an auto-ethnographic performance-exhibition created by Amber Dawn Bellemare in conjunction with The Wolf Lab. Photo by Lana Nimmons.
Seeking to create an immersive experience, the happening is part normal photography exhibition and part ceremonial performance. Bellemare hopes the project will deepen relationships and connections to the present moment, expanding the view of oneself to include others.
“The project is more profound than I initially thought it would be,” revealed Bellemare. “I was sexualized young, determining my value by my sexuality, a common experience shared among women… I wanted to redefine what dinner and a movie looked like.” Her work distills important aspects of the conversation about female sexuality. She found confidence in her vision and voice to heal and connect with others.
The full name of the project is derived from a poem by Mary Howlitt,
“Will you walk into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly. “‘Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy; the way into my parlour is up a winding stair, and I’ve a many curious things to show when you are there.” “Oh no, no,” said the little Fly. “To ask me is in vain, for who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.” (The Spider and the Fly, 1828)
Bellemare said she always thought of herself as either the spider or the fly, depending on the circumstances. The spider, when she was luring or seducing. The fly, when she was submitting to clients or creating individual experiences for them. Only later did she come to recognize that the art of tease and seduction is necessary not only to the spider’s web, but the entirety of the trio; unapologetic, warm, and welcoming, creating sincere and vulnerable experiences throughout her life—not solely in her work.
Opening on Sept 19., you can experience The Parlour Project until Sept. 28 at 4035 St-Ambroise St., studio 206. Tickets are available online and cost $20 for general admission, $15 for students, seniors and sex workers, or $25 at the door. All showings are 18+. Please consult the Eventbrite calendar for opening times. The event will be filmed on weekends for documentation purposes.
From haunted paintings to tormented artists, the art world has a dark side
At this time of the year, there is an abundance of eerie stories to be shared, especially when it comes to unsettling histories.
***
The haunted history of two famous paintings
By: Ashley Fish-Robertson, Contributor
1.
The portrait of Bernardo de Galvez has hung on the walls of the Hotel Galvez in Galveston, Texas, since just after the American Revolutionary War. It is known by visitors and paranormal fanatics as one of the most haunted paintings in Texas. With its Spanish colonial revival architecture, Hotel Galvez sits on the shoreline of the Gulf of Mexico and has been operating since 1911. Several of the hotel’s guests have reported seeing the portrait’s eyes move, and the artwork is known to conjure up feelings of unease. There have even been several reports of visitors attempting to photograph the portrait, but the images always come out blurry and unrecognizable. For those who wish to get a clear picture of Bernardo, the hotel’s staff recommend asking the portrait for permission beforehand.
2.
In 1910, Norwegian artist Edvard Munch completed his masterpiece, The Scream. It is one of the most recognized works of the horror-abstract genre, and served as an outlet for a horrific vision the artist had in his youth. According to some of Munch’s personal writings, his childhood vision encompassed horrific images of “air turned to blood” and the echo of “a huge endless scream course through nature.” Although this painting was inspired by a traumatic moment the artist experienced, the painting itself has several interpretations in the art world especiallywhen considered alongside Munch’s journal entries. In one of his earliest entries, Munch wrote: “Sickness, insanity and death were the angels that surrounded my cradle, and they have followed me throughout my life.”
According to a report by the Smithsonian Museum, this painting “defined how we see our own age—wracked with anxiety and uncertainty” and had a significant influence on the understanding of art in the 18th century. It is the existential dread that haunts viewers the most, according to an in-depth report done by the BBC. The painting has created a popular archetype for horror pop culture, such as influencing the 1996 slasher film Scream.
***
When death imitates art: The curious ending of Poe
By Lillian Roy, Contributor
It was election night in Baltimore, and Gunner’s Hall bustled with life. The tavern had been temporarily converted into a polling station, although this didn’t seem to impede usual pub activities. Mixing spirits and politics made for a popular cocktail in 1849.
A compositor named Joseph W. Walker was walking by Gunner’s Hall when, in the darkness, he spotted the slumped figure of a man. The man appeared to be exceedingly drunk and was dressed in a cheap, worn gabardine suit and a tattered banana leaf hat. Despite the man’s slurred incoherence, Walker managed to decipher the name of a friend who lived nearby. He sent the following note to Dr. Joseph E. Snodgrass:
Dear Sir, There is a gentleman, rather the worse for wear, at Ryan’s 4th ward polls, who goes under the cognomen of Edgar A. Poe, and who appears in great distress, and he says he is acquainted with you, and I assure you, he is in need of immediate assistance. Yours, in haste, Jos. W. Walker
Less than a week later, on Oct. 7, 1849, Edgar Allan Poe was pronounced dead.
The details surrounding Poe’s death are a mystery. To date, no one knows why he was in such a delirious state that night. While an inclination to drink heavily might provide some explanation, it fails to account for his peculiar clothing. The poet was generally regarded as quite fashionable—why then, was his suit soiled, ill-fitting and coming apart at the seams?
What also remains unclear is how exactly Poe died. After he was discovered outside the tavern, Poe was rushed to a nearby hospital. During his short stay, he wavered in and out of consciousness, utterly incoherent and seemingly detached from reality.
A lack of reliable evidence has led to the development of numerous theories surrounding Poe’s death. Was it the result of alcoholism, drug abuse, syphilis, influenza, rabies or poison? Was he mugged and beaten into a state of shock? Some have even speculated he died from the effects of a prolonged suicide.
It seems eerily fitting that Poe’s life ended the way it did. In many ways, his departure was as elusive and chilling as his work. Poe’s legacy is so great that historians and literary buffs continue to search for answers, but it’s unlikely we’ll ever know the truth. After all, in the words of Poe himself, “there are some secrets which do not permit themselves to be told.”
***
Behind Francisco de Goya’s darkness
by Youmna El Halabi, Staff Writer
I believe I speak for most art lovers when I say that “colourful,” “merry” and “pleasing to the general public” are not qualities associated with Francisco de Goya’s work. I was first introduced to the Spanish artist through his infamous El sueño de la razón produce monstruos (The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters). The dark etchings, sombre colours and daunting intensity of the drawings made me believe Goya always produced such darkness. However, that was not the case.
In fact, Goya was avidly admired by the royal Spanish court in the 18th century. For the longest period, his portraits of the royal family were what distinguished him in Spain, namely works like Condesa de Altamira and Her Daughter and Manuel Osorio Manrique de Zúñiga, who was Altamira’s third son. In Goya’s portraits, colours were used in abundance. His landscapes such as Blind Man’s Bluff painted in 1789, were bright and clear.
However, as is the fate of most artists, tragedy struck Goya, forcing him into an isolated life. In 1793, the Spanish artist emerged from a long illness completely deaf, which contributed immensely to his art. Starting in 1797, one can see a growing theme of darkness and disturbance in his work. The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters is among the 80 disturbing drawings of his first famous print series, Los caprichos, which encompassed fantasy, satire and ridicule of Spanish society.
Goya’s first dark series paved way for what we now consider his darkest works, The Black Paintings. Comprised of 14 paintings, the collection took about four years to complete. The BlackPaintings convey violence, despair, mental illness and evil. Saturn Devouring His Son is a fairly disturbing depiction of the Greek myth of the Titan Cronus eating his child to prevent possible usurpation.
The longer Goya spent away from society, the less colourful his art became. One might agree that colourful works of art always appealed to the masses, but as the renowned Spanish artist became more reclusive, eaten away by depression, he began to paint for himself. No colours, no joy, just projections of his inner turbulence.
Concordia alumna, winner of the 2017 Quebec Writers’ Federation Literary Prize, shares her journey to literary success
A graduate student in creative writing at Concordia University, an instructor at the Atwater Library and the winner of the 2017 Quebec Writers’ Federation (QWF) Literary Prize for Young Writers wait near the Hive Café for an interview. What do they have in common? They are the same person. What are they passionate about? Books.
Nicola Sibthorpe, a second-year master’s student, emanates an aura of deep affection and pride when she discusses books. “I’m a book a day kind of girl,” she said. When asked about how many books she had read in her lifetime, Sibthorpe responded: “I’ve read maybe 10,000 books?”
The exact number eluded her, but she estimated being the owner of approximately 3,500 books, while also being the “proud owner of a library card.” Sibthorpe grew up obsessed with folklore, fairy tales and myths. Her original passion was for Greek and Celtic mythology. She describes her enthusiasm for the genres as her “childhood love.” Sibthorpe remembers reading Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales in secret as a child because of their sad and gruesome nature, keeping her private reading interests from her parents.
These literary genres represent a familial connection for Sibthorpe, as they are “the same stories that your parents will tell you, that their grandparents told them and it really allows you to tie yourself back to your family in a specific way or a specific culture.”
The poem that won her the QWF Young Writers award encompasses many different themes. The format of this poem is conventionally different such as using spacing and parentheses to convey additional layers of meaning. It contains vivid imagery that can be interpreted a variety of ways, such as “Grief cause by absence/ (Used to flavour wine)” or “Think of radioactivity/ Chemicals seeping into water.”
When probed, Sibthorpe refused to provide an interpretation of her work, stating she believes that “truly the author is dead,” leaving it up to the reader’s imagination to shape the canon of her work. She recently submitted her proposal for her thesis consisting of a modern adaptation of The Odyssey set in Newfoundland and Montreal. She’s very fond of worldbuilding (creating alternate, fictional worlds) and the morals that one could derive from fairy tales, while also appreciating the darkness of original myths. In her spare time, Sibthorpe works on a young adult novel that she describes as “one of those [in a] magical world, [with] children exploring and learning and growing throughout that.”
Her goal is to write what she wants to read. She aspires to write the books that she would have liked to read growing up, that could have helped her as she faced her challenges.Sibthorpe thinks the world has changed a lot since the 19th century and today there are great differences in morals.She believes that fairy tales should reflect the current climate with modern and inclusive values. It’s not all serious though, she also likes books for their entertainment value and enjoys writing fun stories.
Her favourite pieces to write are the ones that subvert what people expect in a certain way “whether that’s through fairy tales, gender, sexuality or ways you can twist it in a certain way, I think that’s very fun.” When asked what work she was the most excited to work on, she didn’t need to think twice, she immediately answered “All of it? All of it, all of it!”
Sibthorpe is very optimistic when it comes to tackling new work despite it not necessarily being her own personal endeavour. She feels that every project she starts becomes a project that she wants to work on. “I think that passion is very important,” she said. “It’s about finding the ways that a project can become something interesting to you rather than starting off with the idea from the get-go that it’s something you love.”
Writing can be isolating for the author, but she finds that sometimes “it needs to be.” Sibthorpe is grateful to be in a program with likeminded people who share similar ambitions. This allows her to curb the feeling of loneliness by being in a room of other student writers, being “isolationists together,” she said with a smile.
“There are always ways to get yourself out there and experience stuff,” said Sibthorpe about Montreal, which she finds has a strong community of writers. Having such a community makes it easy for her to be inspired, due to the plethora of poetry readings or other literary and artistic events around the city.
Having grown up in a big family, Sibthorpe became accustomed to being surrounded by noise and activity, and she now likes to surround herself in environments that have something going on. If not, she always has a Spotify playlist with music from artists like Maggie Rogers or Firewood Island, a group that falls under the genre of ‘Celtic Viking’ music
Her academic ambition at the moment is to one day complete her PhD, but she tries to keep the future for the future. To avoid feeling overwhelmed, she avoids looking further than three months ahead. Sibthorpe thinks that what will happen in a year is too far away, but if she focuses on a smaller chunk of time, she can manage her expectations and duties better. In three months she’ll be visiting family in Newfoundland, catching up on some Netflix and working on her thesis.
Sibthorpe’s poem ‘Artemisia Absinthium’ can be read at here. The 2018 QWF Literary Prize for Young Writers is open for submissions from until June 15. See here for more information.
Kafein café-bar celebrated its 100th Poetry Nite show on Jan. 16. Several of the night’s performers opened up about what this art form means to them. Photo by Alex Hutchins
What poetry means to the readers at Kafein café-bar’s 100th Poetry Nite show
Spoken-word poetry not only helps the reader share their personal battles; it also helps listeners who are going through similar experiences, according to poet Eliza Prestley. She was among the group of new and returning poets who shared their work at Kafein café-bar’s 100th Poetry Nite show on Jan. 16.
“It’s a healing process,” she said. “When there are poems that address a topic that multiple people are dealing with, you can hear it in [the audience’s] reactions. There is an understanding that someone else feels this too.”
For Prestley, poetry is an art form that connects with its audience in a way that not many art forms can. “If someone else has written it, they [expressed] what you have felt or what you’ve experienced, but you [wouldn’t have] put it into those exact words,” she said, adding that hearing someone else express an experience you have been through can identify and validate your own experience.
Last Tuesday night, Prestley read two poems centred on the theme of sickness and its challenges. “It’s about different ways that people are sick; how I consider myself sick and how others view me as sick through things like thinking that homosexuality is sick,” she explained.
Mariam Saleh, another reader that evening, described poetry as liberating. “There’s something empowering in telling a room of strangers all of these deep, personal things about yourself and knowing that it’s okay because it’s just a poem,” she said. “It’s about making something beautiful out of emotions that are negative.”
Saleh’s first poem was about her journey to Canada. “My first poem was about being care-free, love and being young,” she explained. “I came here to Montreal after living in Egypt, and I just wanted to encapsulate the feeling of summer and languidness.”
Saleh emphasized the importance of words in our society. “I think everyone is a writer at heart,” she said. “What is really beautiful about humanity is that we have language, and the things we can do with language are really amazing.”
Preksha Ashk, who also read a piece at the event, said poetry is an emotional release. “For me, it’s my therapy. It’s one of those things that kept me going when there was nothing else.”
This wasn’t the first time any of these poets had read at Poetry Nite. According to all three, every time they get up in front of this audience, they can be themselves without judgment. “I’ve performed at Kafein a couple of times,” Saleh said. “It’s a safe space. Especially with sharing art, it puts you in a vulnerable position, and it’s not always easy to do it. It’s always great that there are places like these that are made to be a safe environment where everyone can contribute and share [their poetry] and accept and support each other.”
Prestley, Saleh and Ashk each encouraged students to write unapologetically whenever possible. “Focus on yourself and what you want to share. Don’t think so much [about] how others will react,” Prestley said.
Concordia poet balances humour with gravitas in her creative works
Raised both in Toronto and New York City, Phoebe Fregoli is in her third year of creative writing and women’s studies at Concordia. In her poetry, Phoebe often juxtaposes a playful and childlike voice with more serious subject matter, striking a masterful balance of humour and gravitas. In addition to poetry, Phoebe is an avid writer of fiction and scripts. Her most recent work, Be Tween, a play which she wrote and directed, was produced by Tuesday Night Cafe Theatre at McGill. This column was put together with the help of Annah-Lauren Bloom.
am i exciting to you?
she says if your underwear is wet why don’t you take it off. i’m wearing a skirt and the pool is gated. we have to climb to get out, is this flirting? she says let me help you and gives me her thigh to stand on to hop over the fence. she says let’s go to my house: she says it half whispering even though we’re alone with the blue park and it makes me lean in closer to hear. i spot new freckles, the always new ones every june. we bike to her place and her hands rest on my shoulders like they always do when we share my bike but this feels new like only this night i can feel how small the gap is between my back and her boobs. if i turn around i think i know i’d see her nipples hard. but maybe that’s just the wind and the wetness or maybe that’s me. we lay on her bed like normal, face to face on her pillow. is this flirting? i start to feel sick, like sick. she says boys are stupid and she’s tired of them. is this flirting? she says she is waiting for something. girls are always waiting. she stares at my lips and now i’m really sick so sick for her. it is concentrated you-know-where and i sit up and she says did i upset you and i say ow and she says you’re bleeding. right between my legs she says it’s so red. she says can i? this has never happened before. she touches my thigh red fingers she licks her fingers her lips say red. she leans in, copper kiss. is this flirting?
Kafein bar offers a safe space to let the creative juices flow
Pulsating music resonates in our bones as the crowd grows every minute. The conversation buzzes around us, alcohol and coffee alike in hands, sharing laughs with strangers seated shoulder to shoulder in a dimly lit room. The crowd crescendos its conversation in anticipation of the performances to come, groups settling in to stand at the back or on the sides of the room, trying to get the best view of the stage.
This is a common scene at Kafein café-bar, which has bi-weekly poetry events on Tuesdays at 9 p.m., opening the stage to newcomers and experienced performers alike.
Located right by Concordia University’s Sir George Williams campus, Kafein has been hosting Poetry Night every second week since July 2013. According to the event coordinator Ariana Molly, the event was an attempt to attract more customers on Tuesday nights—a difficult task, because really, who goes out to get buzzed on a Tuesday? Nearly four years later, though, it has grown into something no one could have ever anticipated.
Molly, a Concordia student, said she was given complete control of the job by Kafein’s owner—she’s the reason Poetry Night has become the glorious event that it is today.
Last Tuesday, Jan. 24, was an especially unique night at Kafein. It was their 82nd show, and the powerhouse Molly’s final night. She handed her position over to two new handpicked hosts, Jared Roboz and Selena Diorio, as she soon will be studying abroad. According to Molly, this resulted in one of the biggest turn-outs Poetry Night they’ve ever had.
A lot of work went into making Poetry Night such a success, Molly said. At the beginning, she said she was doing all of the scavenging for performers, but now she has to limit the number of readers per night because she doesn’t have room for them all.
According to Molly, Kafein’s Poetry Night policy is not to refuse anybody, no matter their experience or skill in writing. There are many first-time readers, and everyone is welcome. The event offers a space where the readers don’t have to feel intimidated. “[The event] is not just a place for people who have published novels,” Molly said. “It is also for people who write privately or keep a journal or write funny notes in their phone and just want a space to test the waters.”
Anyone who wants to perform at the event emails a copy of their work to the host. The schedule is created on a first-come first-serve basis. According to Molly, she has rarely turned someone down, but when she has, it was usually out of concern for the content of their work, as Kafein tries to create a safe space for the event.
“A true safe space is truly hard to create,” Molly said. “So I always say that we try to create a safer space here.” Kafein is very strict—no sexism, no racism, no ableism, no transphobia is tolerated, she said. The work can be avant-garde or provocative, Molly said, but it cannot be harmful to the audience. Kafein offers performers a space free of judgement.
According to Molly, the main goal of poetry night is to foster a sense of community over anything else.
The atmosphere is different the moment you walk into Kafein café-bar. “It’s very chill and cozy,” Molly said. “Kafein always has these couches—it feels like your best friend’s living room. Everyone’s comfortable.”
Molly said the poetry can be very personal, impersonal or even comedic—it differs from one person to the next. Some performers have spoken openly about eating disorders, or what it feels like to come down from a drug high, or even their struggles with alcoholism.
“I think because they feel comfortable, they feel an intrinsic trust towards the audience,” said Molly. “They can use it as a cathartic space, and that is something I never could have anticipated. Every time it happens, when somebody gets really real, everyone’s so quiet and so receptive, and everyone is just listening and not judging. There are not that many places where you can do that, where you can just talk freely like that.”
Molly said this position has become more than a job for her. Diorio and Roboz, the new hosts taking over the event, both share this sentiment. “This event means a lot to me,” said Diorio. “At least for myself, I’ve used writing as a coping mechanism and kind of as a form of therapy for mental illness. I think it really brings people together.”
Kafein is also where Roboz said he found his artistry. “I think it’s the most necessary and most beautiful place,” said Roboz. “It’s all love here.”
Molly leaves huge shoes to fill, Diorio said. “I only hope we can do a fraction of what she’s done for the community,” and give it the tools to grow even more, he said.
Michael Lottner is a Montreal native in his second year at Concordia University, completing an honours degree in creative writing. This column was put together with the help of Annah-Lauren Bloom.
for Meredith
in the park, missing you quite a bit. A woman comes up
to me and asks for directions to the nearest
water fountain. “Twenty paces north-east,” I say.
“I can’t thank you enough,” she says. “Would you
do me the honor of looking at my photographs?”
After flipping through pictures of her grandkids
and china sets, a shot of a tiny bird catches my eye.
“If you give me the rest of that delicious-looking doughnut,”
she says, “I’ll tell you the bird’s name.”
This is my third doughnut of the morning, so I accept
her offer. “Thank you,” she says. “This is my Bethina.
She’s a real Curious Finch.” Discovering a new specimen
is exactly what I need right now. I picture
the inquisitive little birds perched on people’s shoulders,
chirping their life’s stories and planting seeds of curiosity.
I spend the rest of the day eavesdropping on
conversations. When someone asks someone else,
“Do you think Doug will be alright?” I see wings
flutter out the corner of my eye. But that’s the closest
I come to spotting a Curious Finch. Disappointed,
I wonder if maybe Curious Finches
have no interest in getting to know us, and only use us
for our big brains. I can hear your voice in my head
saying you bet they don’t even know a Doug.
What if I were to tell you Doug is their benevolent leader
and lover, and he’s recently gone missing? Do you know
where Doug is? No one expects life to be a single
vast expedition, true. But—er, if you see Doug,
tell him I miss him. That’s all. I’m heading to sleep now.
A purple bed awaits your return, Doug. Yes, I’ve known
you were Doug all along. I just needed a little something
to throw myself for a loop. The doughnuts were
a good deal, but didn’t keep me company for long,
and once I got going, I couldn’t stop. “What
happens if I start missing Doug too much?” I asked
myself. “You’ll see. It’s all up the world’s sleeve,”
I responded. “Everything gets sorted out up there.”
The moon glimmers off my Krispy Kreme coupons,
expressing some strange chirps.
I turn to your side of the bed. Then I turn again,
and again. Yet no matter how many sides I turn toward,
In her poetry, Kara Bowers explores themes of womanhood, healing, and coming of age, to name a few. Bowers is in her fourth year at Concordia University, where she studies Creative Writing and Studio Arts. She is from Toronto. This column was put together with the help of Annah-Lauren Bloom.
you are running around in the dark
i am hungry but also not
my therapist says “i know you hate confrontation”
i haven’t really thought about it
the clock on the kitchen stove is seven hours fast
i walk all the way
you are going to sleep to hide from a problem
i am staying awake beside windows
where dark presses in close
like bodies in a room in the middle of the night
i cross the street without looking
i ask if you saw me watching
you say no
inside of you it is me
i have pulled a muscle in my left thigh
walking in the fresh
my therapist says “anxiety is awareness”
i repeat this in the new city
in my urges to ravage my body
and to destroy its natural shape
something made me want to change
you feel like the blue and the green out the window in my parent’s house
i had so much more to say when i walked across that bridge every day
many strangers have been talking to me
we all wake up early when the sun comes in
will you sing me to sleep?
will you still love me even when i go away?
we stayed like that for months before i was swallowed up
i stayed in the mouth with an old woman
she said “i used to look just like you —
you remind me of my friend who died in the war”
for my first workshop part 1
i will not prune myself for you
i can’t sleep when i’m touching you
in the mornings i wake up with you
and i drink two
cups of water
i go right into the center
and i bite the pit
we move
closer together
i run into you
on the way
you shout whisper
my name
when you eat an apple
do you eat the whole thing?
i turn into an eggshell
i press my face into my knees
the message she sends says: i care
about you. i never stopped caring
i wash my hair
it is spilling out
i call the angels. another crisis without your voice
i sleep with the blinds open and i wake up every hour
Describing the melancholic end of summer and the promise of fall: a poem
One theme Brynjar Chapman finds himself exploring time and time again in his work is the end of summer—the peculiar and melancholic threshold that exists between end and beginning. As we move deeper into fall, it may benefit us to pause and reflect on this transition. Here, Chapman does just that, meditating on the bittersweet sentiment of another summer passed, with experiences had or missed, lessons learned and connections made.
Brynjar Chapman hails from Toronto, Ont. and is in his fourth year studying creative writing at Concordia.
It’s the last stop on the way out of town
they have everything here!
mugs and hats that say, among other things,
Female
Body
Inspector
and shirts with proud animals or confederate flags
a room, the room of a thousand knock-off crocs
where, as a dare, we stand until light-headed and about to pass out among the fumes.
It’s fun, everyone says so
and we take pictures
but in the car, with Tom,
our silence has weight
so does the smell later in the front hall
of a familiar house left alone for two weeks.
Just last night he was at the fire and barely out of the light
he was wet-eyed, wine in his hands
having just posted to the Facebook of a dead man
It’s on these nights I miss you most.
I felt for some reason I knew what he was feeling because
earlier, I saw him through the bathroom window
pooping
his face was so sincere with red effort,
a face he had never even seen
(unless of course he pooped with a mirror)
and I felt bad that I looked but also nearer to Tom
and glad that he has this place.
In the car I had regrets:
I didn’t jump off the train bridge this year
or I didn’t savour it–the moment before running into the water–
it splashing around my ankles
then the big cold step, the submerge of the crotch
feeling like I’ve accomplished something
but what, exactly? Forget it,
because there’s nothing better than freshwater
and being hungry after a swim
for white bread with meat, and chips.
Because now in the car and at home it’s August
the Sunday of the calendar year
and I don’t have everything in front of me
like on the shore, where a small, long lake held in it,
