The Halifax mafia never had to sell cornpuffs to meet Morris' quota.

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In the home for unwed mothers, as she waits for me to be born, one word in Cree is spoken over and again in her head—macitwawiskwesis, bad girl.

Men left women and women left men and it was all perfectly legal—even natural.

I met Ryan at the smok

Sometimes my dad played cribbage in the evenings with Mr. Coward. They just sat there like two old men and drank rye whisky from juice glasses.

She opened her date book. One Post-It Note said, Pick up alfredo sauce and the other said, Have sex with a stranger.

You're the kind of creature who comes to events like these and sits in the corner writing confessional poetry.

Poems of memorable customers: the one who ordered a hundred cheeseburgers, the one who bought three meals a day at the drive-thru, the drunk one in a clown suit, and more.

Thinking back to the lovely black turtleneck years, before the crinkles and the white hairs.

That’s what matters to me, these stories, you kick them up in the dust and they get inside you.

And so the Marquis of Montcalm • now brought them to the field of warHis handsome face was glad • for in his heart • he knew the hour had come When destiny would be decided • ’neath impregnable Quebec

pictures of my father slick-haired & sideburned my uncles had all his albums older cousins played the hawaii concert whenever I was over

"Mother Mary approves of recycling. She gave birth in a barn, after all, even though where she is now she probably has most things in gold and jasper."

I have never been a success at anything in particular.

We’ve been outside for months now. We’re getting the way we do after so long without sight of land or a woman. Last night Vince licked my neck.

We have men on the slope and men on the ridge. In the gully, more men. Men on the main road wait for the men on the esker to move up onto the ridge so that they (the men on the road) can take their (the esker-men’s) place. Men hesitate and grumble. T

You are clearly preoccupied with love. See the way you siftthrough the lint from your purse, searching for the backing ofan earring. See the runway of broken leaves and bread crumbscollecting under the emergency brake in your car. Messy, messy.

Ten thousand bombs had fallen and I was waiting for death to come and scoop its daily share from a bowl of limbs and blood. I walked down the street under the falling bombs. The streets were empty. I walked above humans hid

1. a quitté l’urgence de l’hopital vers six heures hier matin : Yesterday morning I was not thinking about You, only, faltered

Again we found ourselves at the shoreline,among shards of shell and plastic,scrim of seaweed trapping my feet like a net.

For a man who’d once picked a shard of glass from his cheek while laughing, Dave sure could write a pretty melody.

I saw my mother under sedation in the Psych Ward, after she collapsed at the funeral. She foresaw the bridge disaster, but no one believed her, not even father. Her “visions” made him uneasy.

Having a sweet spot for someone isn’t the same as being in love