By Rachel Meier A note from Rachel’s mother: My daughter is Congolese-Canadian. She is 12 1/2 years old and has been deeply affected by recent events in the United States. She was frustrated that we couldn’t attend the protest in Vancouver last night, but we watched the news footage of it and other protests around […]
Giving in to the Ache
by on May 26, 2020 Leave a Comment
It happened while sitting at the kitchen table yesterday morning. A buttery bloom of sunshine spread slowly across my left shoulder and I turned my head toward its warmth. In the middle of the table sat the pink peonies I had cut the day before when, barefoot, I had run out in the wet of […]
In Remembrance
by on April 8, 2020 Leave a Comment
We are cloistered now and I rarely know what day it is. The hours, the minutes, they keep folding over onto themselves. The days are all so quotidian but I’ll be damned if I am any more virtuous. I am woefully inept at navigating a pandemic. I am woefully inept at navigating a pandemic. Click […]
Layers of Story
by on October 30, 2019 Leave a Comment
I live in an old stone house. Its massive limestone walls so thick one can sit in the windowsills, cross legged. It has two front doors which no one can seem to explain except maybe for the fact that we all have two doors for entering our interiors and this house is just as alive […]
She
by on October 28, 2019 Leave a Comment
She holds me The spirit of me The mind of me The heart of me The guts of me She Capable Phenomenal Regenerative Magical She I count on Her Expectantly For healing For beauty Consistency To stand To dance To walk To run Yet unbeknownst My body, She She also Believes in me Trustingly […]
