I want my writing to feel like the ocean a place where people want to go for soothing sounds and a sense of familiarity, a shared experience yet surprising and unpredictable I want my writing to feel like the wind, gusts of ideas, meditative lulls where readers feel warmed and enveloped, the air knows what …

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Streaks of colour break up the night, the river a pristine tabletop. A single paddle creates an eddy while mist dances on the surface. A loon’s plaintive call hangs above pine sentries lining the shore. A showcase of sundrops replaces the mist and the morning’s second act begins.

here I am, a body of memories: the feet of a walker, coarse and flattened, thousands of miles have I roamed. feet that carried the weight of fluctuations between body love and body shame. ankles that were cursedly passed on thick and boney, yet never failing. calves that connect to the worst joint of this …

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something from the summer I want to remember would be the mornings at the cottage, each one filled with anticipation, a sense of possibility, those butterflies I have missed in this ‘unprecedented time’ possibility, anticipatory joy those beautiful feelings have left the dance floor they no longer tango through my mind, or swing by to …

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A couple weeks ago I submitted a poem to The Power Plant Contemporary Art Museum’s Power of the Poets contest. The idea was to write based on an artist’s work. I chose Black Cloud by Carlos Amorales and wrote from the duality of this view of his work and our current state of isolation. Though …

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This morning’s writing session from Firefly Creative Writing began with a reading of Eagle Poem by Joy Harjo. Chris, who led the writing session, read the poem and asked us to find a word, or a phrase, or something else that struck a chord with this and do some free writing. For me, the line swept our hearts clean …

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There’s the kind of hugs that a toddler gives, the little humans who barrel down the hall at the sound of the front door opening. The hugs that hit you full force, mid-leg; you cannot move or reciprocate but only take in all that day-long, pent-up love, because as quickly as it started the squeezer …

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