permanent for now

i ended up here
early afternoon erev shabbos
and decided i wanted to try again

i sit now, at the intersection
of décarie and girouard,
wishing i had done differently

but i know where that path leads
and wishing i had done differently
doesn't change how i acted.

i cannot take back what i did.
i built a house on quicksand
because i couldn't see 

i just cant blame new york for this.

i stand here on sherbrooke west
outside of the centre jeunesse emploi
it's snowing. but it's warm.

the prospect of moving forward.
the feeling of being at peace.
in february, once more I call NDG home.

i finally put up mezuzahs
and i'm changing the hooks
because it's permanent for now.

how i know you are my favorite person

  ...and i will grow
and drop all my plans
for a chance to see you
no longer

i will care for myself
and find stability in change
to spite this 'consistency'
i've never known

you are a river
and i am a raindrop
you are my favorite
but i'm just me

because the world
once revolved around you:
everyone there wanted you
but not me. (i needed you)

i am a linguist
and you are an artist
we are eating tofu
on my kitchen floor

things will change
and when they do,
i'll mourn what's past
no more.

when i awake
the last thing i'll check
is my phone
...

ndg in january

the montreal air brought us back up from below freezing where we sat for a week or so. the floor of the snowdon metro sat soaking in slush this morning as a floor cleaner interrupted the end of the work-bound rush.

i am late for my welfare assessment.

the train peaks its head out from behind a corner before it comes my way. azure and canary yellow. but my pants and shoes are earth brown and mustard and it sort of clashes.

i lost my headphones again and so transcendental youth plays on repeat in my head. this summer i did every stupid thing that made me feel alive. it ended me up here where i am still in love with the city.

the sun beats down on the pavement outside decarie square, melting all of the snow from the previous days. i have my coat unzipped. the lady at the desk calls me 'madame.'

christmas at 20

an early morning
i am up before the sun is
it is dark this morning and
i have a long day ahead of me

a kiss for the road
and three more in the pocket
a greyhound into the capital
an ache in my lower back

ottawa doesn't scare me
like it did six months ago
i won't be hiding my face
walking down these streets

i'll take a train to tunney's pasture
and a bus into the suburbs
carrying a bag of bridgehead coffee
and years of memories here

this is christmas at twenty:
i'm alone on the o-train.
i'm putting my feelings aside.
i'm doing this for you, mom.

you expected a lot from me.
you had ideas and plans laid out
but i'm not who you wanted me to be
and i don't love the winter like i used to.

this will be my last christmas—
i won't raise my kids with it.
there is hardly any snow here and
i hope it stays that way.

dancing shadows

it is erev shabbos and i come into consciousness 
still between your legs
i struggle to keep my eyes open and
your thigh covers my ribcage

it is 10:43 and shadows of you and dahlia lie in front of me
on the wall through the east facing window into your bedroom
there they perform choreography
and i put my head under the covers

flewellyn road

i knew i would end up back here sometime.

sunflower decal dishes and blood orange walls
uranium glass and my gramma's late 80s windbreaker
one that thrift store kids would kill for.
the christmas tree is down for the first time in years.
i finally bought myself a copy of one of my favorite albums
but i'm not sure where my record player is
it's not at my dad's;
i spent motzei shabbos looking for it.

maybe it's gone.
maybe i'll ask around.
maybe it's at the bottom of the closet in miles' house.
chances are, though, i left it somewhere at lacombe.

i moved out of there with five minutes' warning.
really giving a new meaning to 'living on the run.'
two years ago i thought by now
i wouldn't be living out of a backpack anymore.

-

i knew i would end up back here sometime
though i was certain i would be living in the little house
taking time away from the city to focus on me
and writing songs.

i had dreams of myself as some wide-eyed writer
like troll toftenes, steven christian or dan cambell
but without the skill, focus, or even drive these days
i'm damned to be an amateur

nepean street

why i gave so much power to a polaroid, it's beyond me

these tired thoughts wont let me rest
this time last year, i had a home
now i'm trying to sleep on the left
i'm getting used to being alone

it's finally weird to think about the place on nepean street
not sad. strange.

i can't put this sick sentimentality behind me
so i'm watching that colorful movie a little more sparingly
last time around i was too fucking easy
it made sense at the time when you told me

that we made sense!