absolution

at least
in the end,
you were polite
about it.

your hand
rests gently
on the back of my neck,
nails rough and worn
as you trace your way
down the length of my spine,
turning each knob
with a definite crack and caress
until you reach the curves
of my hips
and dig in.
sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry.
i'm sorry.
my name, something other
than a curse, the words
just hovering
between the space of your lips
as one of us, i'm not sure who,
starts to cry.
we are left with
your hand on my heart,
knife on my gullet,
lips pressed softly to my cheek
in prayer
as you apologize once more,
and the moment
where everything pauses

and i brace myself
for the impact.

help

i am the scream
hollow
in the back of my throat
white within
the corners of my brain
bruised along the lines
of my bones
snapped
against my tendons
the length of my gullet
the stretch of my lungs
and the sensation

that i no longer know who i am

with you

these days
i am falling
deep
into you
as far as my body will let me go
i would wish to wake up with you
your arms around me
kiss you
run my fingers through your hair
move closer
as close as possible in
the skin of my body
until
this becomes something
i no longer have words for

i just want to be with you

How to Ride a Bike

Right hand, left hand on the handle bars. Stand to attention. Listen. Your father is yelling again, the sound drifting through the screen door. Your brother is playing video games in his room. You cannot hear your mother crying. Wait for the wind on your skin before you step through the frame of the bike.

Balance, hands on the handle bars, bike between your legs. Strong. Capable of things your father says you are not. Stand up on your toes and raise yourself onto the seat. Admire your control over the bike. You are only getting started.

Place your right foot on the pedal. Lean left with your other foot on the ground. Hands straight. Scooch your butt around, maybe back a little until you're comfy. Do not worry about a helmet. It will not be needed where you are going. Straighten up. Look forward at the road. Ignore the house behind you.

Push forward with your right leg on the pedal. Raise your left leg and place it on the other pedal. Push your left leg forward. Move.

Keep pedalling around and around, into the wind, sun bright and sticky on your skin. Down the road. Forward into possibility. Away from that house and all the screaming.

Smile for the Camera

The light is soft. Green leaves on the bushes, small wild roses blooming. They stand side by side in the garden. Their family waits in a ring, cameras clutched in their hands.

She has her arm awkwardly around her sister's waist. Her sister's dress is blue, strapless, and draping to the ground as it brushes against the grass. She is wearing tights and her short black dress. “Get closer.” Their grandmother calls. She waves her hand in emphasis as she looks through the small viewfinder of her ancient camera. They uncomfortably move closer together. That’s good,” says their mother. ‘Now smile like you love each other.”

They smile. Awkwardly. For graduation photos. For their parents and grandparents. They smile.

Like they have done this pose a million times.

Apologies

She found him sitting on the couch, fingers clasped loosely around a beer can with his forearms resting on his knees, back hunched forward as his shirt shifted to reveal the nape of his neck. The lamps were off and the late light of the afternoon softly filled the room, emphasizing the lines of his face and obscuring the days’ growth on his jaw. His shadow stretched out across the coffee table before him, crawling its way forward as if to escape him. It was quiet in the apartment except for the sounds of his breathing, the tick of the clock, and the music echoing faintly from her daughter’s room down the hall. She unbuttoned her coat, slid the closet door open with a creak and rustled around for a coat hanger. Finding none free, she hung her coat overtop of his and shut the door. She removed an envelope from her purse and placed the bag on the entrance table.

He made no sign that he’d noticed her presence.

“Rough day?” she quipped as she bent down to remove her shoes.

“I want you to stop.” Her hand slowed midair, fingers resting on the heel of her stiletto as the shoe dangled half off her foot. She slowly slid the shoe back on and stood there waiting, one hand on her hip and the envelope in the other, saying nothing.

“I want you to stop. This.” he repeated, his head still bowed. “I can’t take it anymore.”

The silence stretched across the room, as neither of them moved. There was only the soft buzz of insects from outside the window and the ting of aluminum as he lowered the can onto the coffee table.

She looked around the room, at the worn upholstery of the sofa, the baskets of unfolded laundry next to the coffee table, the TV remote with the dead batteries lying next to it. The dishes were unwashed in the sink, yesterday’s pasta still in the pot on the stove and the piles of unpaid bills growing on the kitchen table. A growing trail of broken toys abandoned in the dust on the floor wound its way down the hall to her daughter’s bedroom.

The sound of bare feet on the cold tile floor echoed its way down the hall and her daughter poked her head around the wall. “Mommy, you’re home!” her daughter exclaimed as she ran towards her and latched her small, skinny arms around her legs, almost ripping her nylons in the process. She slowly ran her fingers through the girl’s hair, untangling the knots and gently shushing her as the girl kept talking. She lifted her daughter up onto her hip, even though the child was getting to be much too big to do it anymore.

He made no sign that he noticed the girl, except for the slight tightening of his fingers on the can. She turned to face her daughter and took stock of her hair, the dirt on her face and the rip in her pajama bottoms at the knee.

“Did you have a good day at school?” she asked.

“I didn’t go.”

“Why not?”

“Daddy wasn’t awake to take me.”

“Really.”

“Yes,” the girl nodded, “I made myself toast for breakfast. Just like you showed me.” She brushed the girl’s hair out of her eyes and licked her fingers to wipe the smudge off her face, despite the girl’s protests.

“Did you put the toaster away after you were done?” The girl nodded. “Good job. Now why don’t you go start the bath for me? Do you remember how to turn on the tap?” And when the girl nodded, she gently lowered her off of her hip and watched her race away down the hall to the bathroom, kicking her dolls into the wall in the process as she ran by.

She turned back to face him. “Did you find a job yet?” she asked. And when he said nothing, she reached down to remove her shoes once more.

He raised his head as she approached him, squatting down so she could see his eyes. They were bloodshot and heavy with alcohol and a lack of sleep. His clothes were the same ones he’d worn yesterday and the day before. His hair was uncombed and the angles of his face sharp. She swallowed and turned her eyes away from him.

She ran her fingers over the edge of the envelope in her hands. “I’ll put this on the table,” she said. “There should be enough for rent and to buy groceries tomorrow.” She stood up and walked past the sofa. She placed the envelope down next to the pile of the bills and turned to leave the room.

“I’m sorry,” he said. She paused at the doorway and looked back. She smiled weakly but said nothing.

He was still sitting there long after she’d gone to bathe, her daughter’s voice echoing down the hall.

subside

as if there could be
those lines
something along the wave
of the water
the curve of my bones
a shallow scrape against the palm
of my hand
as i reach in against the mirror
to kiss the cool of the glass
while the panic
subsides

i am still waiting
for something
and it is unknown whether i
will be capable of feeling it
when i do
whether the moment
when i finally come undone
nails locked along the length
of my arms
teeth through the pad of my lip
something about my body
tense with an ache
the absence of control
whether it
will be worth it in the end

i say i should
be writing
i say i should
be able to handle it
i say

that this
is eventually sometimes not
worth it
whether in the end
i can hold my body steady
that i can piece it together
lick the blood slowly
from the base of my skull
and pry the muscles apart
pry everything apart
until it no longer hurts

for this
is hopefully now
nearly over

spaces

there's the cool air that hovers in my vision as you slow your hands, run them along my skin, my jeans, touching, just touching as you pull back and gently return, just touching me. and the anticipation crawling along my skin by the time you hit me is almost better than the pain itself.

everything is blurry here, as i shudder, collapse and cave inwards to myself in a mess of desire, of what you do to me, what i need from you. i would will this piece to be nothing but the truth, not even confession for i am years past places of shame, long before i met you. i do not know how to write this desire crawling along the dark spaces of my bones though, the hollows of my neck as you bite me, the curve of my ass as you spank me and the tug of my hair as you grab the strands and pull. for it is almost impossible to write the lines between fiction, fantasy and fact while the embellishments fester within these spaces. i would will myself to attempt it though. even if i do not fully understand it, even if i do not know where it started from.

there were the lines of my nails across my neck, face and arms in an attempt to cool the matter as i broke down, claw out the blood, blink and move forward, breath shaky through the moment. and the pain is sweet, barely crisp, possibly razor thin as it stings it's way along my skin and fade quickly. i repeated the process, each time the pain duller than before until i could no longer use it as a method to cope.

there were those nights in the dark, computer screen lit, paperback open, jean unbuttoned as i lower myself back into the curve of the bed in fascination. i am unable to recognize this though, even though everything has been building towards it. i allow myself to think of all the things i could do to him. and don't worry when the fantasies are fleeting and brief for i have not yet recovered from the idea that i could be a sexual being, something desired and to hold desire for other people. 

there are still those poems i wrote for him, though he has never read any of them and i have no intention of having him do so. the curve of the words are dark, black in the emptiness and the belief that i am broken, that maybe he can fix me, that i could be happy being anything he wanted me to be, a doll, his girl, a fuck toy. that it would be enough even if he didn't love me if he could just physically hurt me rather than allowing me to repeatedly break my heart in the shadows.

but still, i have never used the pain and the anticipation to harm myself, other than in self-depreciation and fantasy. and this i am proud of.

i can still remember the first time you kissed me. and i say kissed me rather than we kiss due to the fact that i did not know what to do. you're smiling, in a way that breaks my heart now, as you slowly close the gap between us. i do not remember if you had both your hands on my hips, or one in my hair or cupped against my cheek. only the sensation that i am falling and never want it to stop as you tell me to open my mouth a bit more and kiss me again. i grip your shoulders awkwardly and when you pull back i am both disappointed and relieved for i have no idea where to look now.

i think we've kissed five times now, though i'm not sure. but i text you and say that we should make out, setting the time for when i see you tomorrow. we spend the first part of the night dicking around at denny's until the moment comes and i am too scared to make a move, forcing you to. i ask if i can sit on your lap, overcome with the ever growing desire to try and climb into you, as if it could be possible to remove as much space between us. and when i ask you to bite me minutes later out of instinct it's all i can do but gasp and moan as you do, the bruises blooming on my neck at the end of the night  spectacular.

for this is subspace

the hollow ring of my breath in the air, the clawing of my body in an attempt to open myself wider for you, the whistle of air before you bring the belt down and the shudder that overcomes me as i allow it to take me over. deep enough that i can't explain the pull, the desire of it all for what you give me, even though that's all i wish to be able to do. i want you to hurt me, please me, break me. break me.

though this goes both ways as i give and i get. for i've never had any fear that i'd get hurt, either by myself or by you.

After the War

The noise from the common room below drifted faintly through the open crack of the window, the thuds of tankards coming together with the sounds of dance and raucous laughter as the night deepened into drink. He slowly poured himself a glass of ale from the pitcher on the table, threw back his head, and drank it quickly. With a sigh he lowered the cup back onto the tray, next to the pitcher and the half-eaten loaf of bread. The road had been long, and he had traveled it far enough to lose what remained of his appetite since the Nemarrda had retreated back into the shadows of the Vanya Rassa, to hide and rebuild among the shadows of the trees, or so the bards sang. They’d left the cities ransacked, the blood of old battles drying along the outer walls of the city as the thieves picked their way clean through the dead’s possessions.

He was tired. Absentmindedly he ran his fingers over the handle of the dagger attached to his belt. He drew the blade from its sheath and held it before him in the dim light, his fingers tracing the damaged insignia upon the pommel.

From outside, the shouts announcing the changing of the guards upon the city’s outer wall reached him. He slid the dagger back in its sheathe and ran his fingers through his hair one more time to shake free the last dust of the road. They would be looking for her within the next hour once she failed to show up for her shift. He walked towards the window and shut it quietly, the sounds of the city outside and the bar below fading, before he turned to face the woman sprawled out across the bed. With the pitcher in hand he started forward towards her.



The ale was lukewarm but stung as it hit her face. Gasping, she let her training take over as she rolled to the left. She got halfway off the bed before the chain that was tethered around her right wrist stopped her. Her eyes flew open as she strained against the weight of the bed, the chain growing taunt with each struggle. She reached with her left hand for the dagger at her belt, debating on whether it would be easiest to kill her captor or to break the shackle around her wrist.

“How was your sleep, Duckling?”

She paused, her fingers hovering over the spot where her dagger normally rested only to find it missing. Her head pounded and seconds passed before her breathing to slowed back to normal. She turned slowly to face him, the chain clinking as she repositioned herself into a crouch on the bed.

The lantern on the far wall above the table flickered dimly and the torch light from the streets spilled across the room, placing shadows across the angles of his face. He wore his travels well despite the unkempt growth on his jaw and the coolness of his eyes as he watched her. His hair hung lank against his cheeks in need of a wash and he had not bothered to brush the dust from the road out of his clothes. The lining of his cloak resting over the chair next to him had been recently repaired, the leather of his boots was scratched but not as damaged as the pair he’d been wearing when she’d last seen him. She eyed her dagger resting on his hip. Her cloak was folded on the table beside him, and the rest of her weapons, as well as her insignia of the guard that sat on top of it.

Neither of them spoke.

He reached for the loaf of bread on the table, never taking his eyes off her. He bit into it slowly. “Would you like some?” he asked. She stared at him in disbelief. He raised a brow when she didn’t respond, and shrugged. He finished what remained of the loaf, and dusted the crumbs off his hands and onto his trousers.

She turned towards her bonds to examine them. The insignia of the Nemarrda curved along the shackle on her wrist, ending just before the chain that was bolted to it. The other end of the chain was looped around and underneath the heavy frame of the bed. It would be impossible to free the chain from either her wrist or the bed.

“You won’t get those off,” he said as he watched her, “Not without the key. Not even the King’s High Priest could find a way to remove those through either brute force or magic.”

“Where did you get these?” she asked, lifting the shackles for a closer inspection. She sighed when he did not respond.

“I’m not here for games, Amarin,” she said. “Let me go.” She tugged the chain once more for emphasis. He made no move towards her. Instead he crossed his legs and leaned back upon the table, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers.

“Why here?”

“Amarin…”

“Why here? Why a desolate border town on the edge of the Vanya Rassa with barely enough soldiers from the capital to support the guard?” He spat the name of the forest with distaste. “There are farmers and merchants upon the wall with swords they cannot use looking for demons in the night.” He nodded his head towards the window, out into the shadows of the city. From the window they could see the eastern guard tower and the soldiers that stood at attention against the dark of the forest. “The war is over now. There is nothing left but the nightmares that roam between the trees of the Vayna Rassa.” he whispered.

“It’s not over though, Amarin.”she whispered “Not yet.”. She turned her face away. He sighed, raised a hand and rubbed it to his temple. He uncrossed his legs and walked towards the bed. The sounds of his boots on the floor grew louder and the bed beside her shifted beneath his weight as he sat down.

“Einya, look at me,” he whispered. “It’s over. They won’t be back.”

“We can’t know that,” she said. He reached forward and gently tucked the strands of her hair covering her face behind her ear.

“I need to know. Why here?” His voice wavered slightly as the words caught in his throat.

“Why not?” she replied. “Does there have to be a reason?”

“Yes,” he whispered, “I need a reason.”

“What good would it do if I told you?” she sighed as she ran her fingers through her hair, yanking the strands free. “Please let me go. Unless you want the watch to be knocking on the door.”

“Is that a threat?” he teased. He reached for her left hand and when she didn’t resist he slowly threaded his fingers through hers. He leaned forward until their foreheads gently rested upon each other. She could feel his breath on her cheek, smell the ale he’d been drinking and the dust and blood that clung to him from outside.

“Einya,” he whispered, “Please tell me.” His lips moved softly against her cheek as he spoke and his hair fell forward against her face. She shuddered. He raised his head and they stared at each other. Slowly he moved and pressed his lips gently to hers. She tightened her grip on his hand and leaned forward into him. And when the moment was over, they sat there, eyes closed. The sound of their breath quietly filled the room.

She swallowed.

“I came here to pay my dues.” He opened his eyes. Her face was resigned and her eyes showed no fight left. At the hollow of her neck was the mark of the border guard, inked overtop of his name, as a reminder that she now no longer owed allegiance to him.

“It wasn’t your fault. It’s over now.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied.

“Einya…”

“I came here to pay what I owe.” she said, “And I will walk the wall until I have.” She removed her hand from his and met his eyes. He looked away.

“What would you have me do?” he whispered.

“I would have you release me, let me go and never come looking for me again.”

“Einya…”

“Please Amarin.” she whispered, “Let me go.” He closed his eyes. Then opened them. He rose stiffly and looked at her once more. The bridge of her nose had scarred after being broken recently, and her hair was darker than he remembered. She stared back at him with tears starting to form in the corners of her eyes.

He removed a key from his shift pocket and placed it on the bed in front of her. He made no move to touch her as she inserted it into the shackle lock. White light glowed faintly as the spell on them was released and the shackle dropped free of her. She winced softly and rubbed her fingers along the welts on her wrist.

Slowly she stood and walked towards the table. She reattached her sword to her belt, strapped the throwing knives onto her boots and fastened her cloak securely around her neck with her insignia. She took a leather tie from her pocket and tied her hair back at the nape of her neck. Once she was done she turned to face him.

“My dagger,” Her voice wavered as she held out her hand to him. He detached the sheath from his belt and handed it to her. Her fingers closed around it and brushed against his before she withdrew. She did not attach it to her belt but slipped it into a cloak pocket.

She did not say goodbye as she stepped past him, opened the door, and walked out of the room into the corridor. The door behind her remained open, the sounds of the common room quieter now as people wandered back to their beds. He heard the innkeeper yell out her name but could not make out her response over the shout of the changing of the guard as the torches on the wall flickered faintly against the dark.

rhapsody

and within following

a rhythm of striking gold,

I am picking all divisions

of my body bright,

blank skin along 

a canvas, unshorn hair

matting against my skull,

spots of blood

and surviving murmurs

of your kiss upon my collar,

staining black, blooming

wild forms of joy

and gratification as I watch

my shadow unfurl

in your mirror,

with a grin and a laugh

as I lift up my arm to touch,

nails raw, and inch forward,

slowly,

my lips soft against glass

in rhapsody.

apologize

at least the man
who tried to kill me
was polite
about it.

his hand
rests gently
on the back of my neck,
nails rough and worn
as he traces his way
down the length of my spine,
turning each knob
with a definite crack
until he reaches the curves
of my hips
and digs in.
sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry.
i'm sorry. 
my name, something other
than a curse, a rope tied tightly
around us both, just hovering
between the space of his lips
as one of us, i'm not sure who,
starts to cry. 
we are left with
his hand on my heart,
knife on my gullet,
lips pressed softly to my cheek
in prayer
as he apologizes once more
and the moment
where everything pauses
and i brace myself
for the impact.

cannot

it is strange

and suddenly i cannot
only with the empty beat
of my heart along
the side of my rib
the hollow beneath the weight
of my stomach
built along the lines
that everything is now different
from yesterday

even when you kiss me
run your fingers through my hair
build the tension
along the base of my spine
and out across my abdomen
till you cleave my body in two
at the end of this moment

i am still whole though
still beating
breathing moving along
between the burst of my cells
and the boil of the blood
despite the possibilities
and the consequences

because you never realize
what it means to you
until you suddenly can't

perfect

and this is ecstatic

the beat of your body

within mine

the rush of the blood

along the length of

my limbs

as i rock forward into

your arms

laughing

i cannot stop smiling

for everything feels

perfect now

forever

it's as if forever
could suddenly explode

and we are all liars
black along the charcoal
sweet white within
the lines of your blood
as i lean in
to kiss the red blur of your lips
but miss in a laugh
against the curve of your
cheek

some one tell me
this
will go on and on
and on and on until
the lines of each element
of my skin
become transparent
beneath the morning
light bright against the shadows
of the sheet draped
along the length of
your hips
and the scent of your hair
your face and body
mixed within mine
until i can no longer tell
when you are ending
and whether i have begun
to be able to decently
tell this story
with any accuracy

and i am still waiting
for the bomb to drop
and everything to end
each and every time
i reach in to kiss you

when i pull back
you are still smiling
though

happy

part three

you tell me

you love me

and i wish to stop breathing

curl my body forward into yours

clutch my fingers

against your shoulders

breath your scent in

and almost will myself to cry

as i am overcome

i hope you know how

happy you make me

something other

why is it now
though i think i knew
understood it in the end
the pull of this
force by something other
than magic
that maybe i can heal it over
by the press of her hips to mine
the tangle of her fingers
in my hair
and the tug as she pulls
me to her
fingers locked to the collar
of my shirt
as she takes me down
out
across the sheets
and in the end
this is fantasy
smoke along the shallow curve
of my back
the trace of my gaze
up her legs until
i reach her breasts
and look away

funny though
for by the end of it
i had to unpack it all
trace my face in the mirror
and dig deep enough
the squeeze the valve
of my heart open
and push all the blood
out across the floor
because

i am sleeping
with him
his teeth a bite along
the edge of my skin
his fingers digging into my hips
my arms clinging to him
as i whisper (i love you,
i love you, i
love you) in an attempt
to spread this truth
out along the axis of
my heart

and i'm still watching her

in the end

part two

i told you
i love you (i love you)
quickly without breath
in my memories
of the embellishment
of the act
and the tug of the words
from my lips
in one go
almost to the point where
i wondered if
i'd just thrown
my confession away
i told you
i love you (i love you)
"really?" you asked
really, truly
actually,
probably by now
for long enough that
i am no longer fighting it
and this will only
grow from here
i told you
i love you (i love you)
and you asked for time
but i knew that
before i decided to speak
i knew that as i
opened my mouth
i knew that as
i watched your face
in response and
it's ok
i'll give it to you
willingly

for i see no reason why
we won't get there
in the end

make do

part one

i was going to write
you a confession
to tell you
i love you (i love you)
probably filled with words about
the way you make me feel
written like all other poems
and all other loves
shared by
other people
so generic that in the end
i couldn't
i was going to write
you a love poem
in confession
about it all
and i can't
not sure why
or how or when
but this relationship is now
everything
not in a creepy or
desperate manner
but in a fashion that it's
slightly too large
to kiss open across the page
in a way that makes
any sense at all
i was going to write
you a confession
to tell you
i love you (i love you)
but instead
wrote one
on why i couldn't

you'll just have to
make do with this

Set Me on Fire

“Do you hear that?” you asked.

“Hear what?” I asked as I reached for your hand.

You stared at me and for a moment I wasn’t sure if you’d take it. But slowly you reached forward and laced your fingers through mine and the beat of my heart intensified. “I don’t know,” you said, “It sounded like thunder.”

“Do you want to turn back?” I asked, even though that was the last thing I wanted to do. I watched you as you bit your lip in silence while the wind occasionally stirred. The air was hot and hard enough to kiss your breath away and smoke was still rising out in the distance. My dad was out there fighting the fires, my mom thought we were at the rec centre and your parents were opening another round of beers on the front porch with Grandma. And at any moment our lie could shatter, if my mom called my cell and heard it go off in my bedroom because I probably forgot to put in on silence. If Medrith stopped by for a chat with your mom after she got off shift and said she didn’t see us walk past the store. If my ex stopped by after swim practice to ask if I wanted to give it another shot. Anything could happen and by the time we got home, there would be much screaming and crying. For only idiots go into the bush alone during forest fire season without telling anyone where they’re going.

“No,” you said, “Let’s keep going.” You squeezed my hand for reassurance before we moved forward into the bush.

You once told me when we were kids, it wasn’t summer unless some part of the province was on fire. That August I watched a lot of CBC News since my mother had it constantly playing on TV and listened to the local gossip as it made its way across town. Medrith told me as she rung up my groceries that the RCMP would be evacuating us soon and that they’d have to drag her out of her house by the hair before she left. Sam at the museum said it would go around us like it always did and then spoke of his gardening plans for the summer and offered to pay me to mow his lawn and give you a job weeding once you arrived. By the time autumn had rolled around, the adults were referring to that summer as ‘the Burning Fields’ and the news was reporting it as the worse forest fire season BC had ever seen. But early on, it hadn’t seemed like it could be that bad. My mother packed our bags like usual and had them ready at the front door, ‘in case of an emergency’ she told me, and then proceeded to carry on with the plans for the family reunion at the end of the week. No one had plans to evacuate.

It was boiling the day everyone arrived. I’d been sitting on the porch, looking out across the river to the highway on the other side to see if I could figure out who’s vehicle was who’s as I watched them trek forward through the haze. By the time the first car arrived temperature had reached obscene, another fire had started near Cash Creek and my mother had just finished making the salad. Four more cars arrived within the hour and I suffered through all the hugs and kisses. Before everyone had arrived, my mother had sat me down to have a talk about being polite and actually visiting with the family this time. “Sarah’s the same age as you,” she said, “You can introduce her to all your friends.” I didn’t respond out of resentment, for most of my friends had left for Kelowna, Vancouver or Victoria to check out the universities. We couldn’t afford that and the reunion had been deemed more important so I’d been left alone in Lillooet, and the only person left I could tolerate was my ex and he wasn’t speaking to me after I broke up with him when he asked me if we could make it official. He then promptly started dating one of my friends and we were currently not on speaking terms.

You’d died your hair blonde since the last time I’d saw you and were wearing summer clothes that showed off your body in a way I didn’t remember you doing before. And the feeling I got when I saw you was so quick I pushed it aside in panic. I didn’t need this. “Emily,” yelled my mother, “Come say hello to Sarah!”

You smiled and I felt part of my heart drop away. I silently began praying for the end of the world, for this town to burn down and for all the people who couldn’t understand me to go with it. Or at very least, for the next week to pass quickly until you left.



“So you’d be sleeping in my room,” I said as I lead you down the stairs, “We have to share the bed though, unless you want to sleep on the floor. But if you do, there’s no cushions or anything ‘cause Uncle Barry got the couch.”

“The bed’s fine,” you said as I pushed open the door and dropped your backpack next to the dresser. We just kind of stared at each other awkwardly while people began to rearrange the furniture upstairs so everyone could eat. “I missed you,” you said, “You didn’t spend that much time with us last Christmas.” I swallowed and lowered my head.

“Sorry. I just couldn’t be in the house.” I whispered.

“I know.” And when I looked up I could see in your eyes that you knew. Or at very least suspected it.

“Please don’t tell anyone.” I begged. I already knew what would happen, what would be said. My mother would cry and my father would deny it. And then I would suffer here until I graduated or dropped out of school so I could work. Neither option was appealing.

“I won’t,” you reassured me. I bit down my panic and was conveniently rescued as my mother called us for dinner.

“Will your dad be joining us?” you asked as we headed towards the stairs.

“God no,” I said. “He got called away to Cash Creek shortly before you arrived.”

The dinner table was full with food and everyone was eating on the floor. My uncles had already pulled out a case of beer and your mom was half way through it with my aunt.

“Emily,” called your mom as we passed by to grab plates and cutlery, “Do you have a boyfriend yet?”

“I dumped him,” I said. And everyone’s laughter drowned out me asking whether you wanted a knife or not.



By mid-afternoon the next day I could tell you were bored out of your skull. Whatever show we’d been watching had been interrupted for a special news bulletin about another fire. No one was listening though and I’d quickly put in on mute. My mom was cooking lunch and everyone else was tipsy on the porch as the kids ran around screaming in the yard. “We should do something, anything,” you said.

“We could go swimming,” I suggested as I watched the anchorman point wildly to various points on a map to indicate where the fire was spreading. Around a third of the map was red as the mountains burst into flames. Dire warnings had been issued for the Kootnays, the Okanagan Valley and there were plans of evacuation in the air all across the province.

“I didn’t bring a swimsuit though,” you said.

“You can borrow one of mine,” I offered.

“That’s not going to be of much use,” replied your dad as he eyed my chest. I bit down the urge to tell him to fuck off and grabbed your hand, pulling you downstairs before I did anything stupid.

“I’m sorry about that,” you said as I closed my bedroom door behind me and collapsed face first onto the bed.

“Nothing new,” I mumbled. I felt the bed shift as you sat down beside me and then the cold touch of your hand on my neck. I sat up with a start and slapped your hand away.

“Don’t,”

“It’s okay,”

“It’s weird. It’s gross.” You smiled. And I was too concerned about myself to notice whether you were sad when I said that. But you knew, and I was scared of that. I’d gotten used to hiding and the fact that another person could accidentally out me was terrifying.

“Let’s go for a walk,” you suggested. I went upstairs to leave a note on the fridge to say we’d left for the rec centre. We then left by the back door while everyone was drinking.



“Watch for cactuses,” I told you as we slowly made our way through the path. No one had seen us going up the driveway and heading down the path that leads through the bush to the river. The air was electric as the sun burned above us and the sound of grasshoppers echoed all the way down the mountainside as we pushed through the grass. Across the valley I could see storm clouds rolling in from Seaton Lake and made a mental note to remember to take the laundry off the line when we got back.

“We should have worn sunscreen,” you muttered.

“Try and live a little,” I replied as I pushed an overhanging branch back, “Become a country girl.”

“Kamloops is not a cosmopolitan city.”

“It is compared to here.” I laughed.

“Are you going to leave here?” I could still feel your hand in mine and as you said that you gently squeezed before continuing on. “You can’t come out, you have no hope of finding a girlfriend and the social repercussions would be huge. Plus unless you want to study at the TRU satellite school or work, there’s nothing left here. Heck, you can’t even find work.”

“I know that,” I snapped, “Why the fuck wouldn’t I? You think I don’t know what they’ll say, that my ex will start talking about how frigid I am? That my parents would kick me out and that I probably wouldn’t be able to graduate? Jesus Christ, Sarah, I know this shit! Why would anyone who’s different want to stay here?”

You stopped and turned to me. “Are you a lesbian?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered, barely able to face you, “I just can’t stand it here though.”

We stood in silence, still holding hands as the wind slowly picked up. As I raised my eyes, you slowly leaned in and kissed me. “Can I do it again?” you whispered as you pulled back.

I nodded and nearly became undone when you pressed your mouth to mine again and leaned into me, your hands resting gently on my hips. It was raining by the time the kiss was over and I could hear people yelling our names in the distance.

“Let’s go back,” you said. Overhead the thunder was starting and later that night the mountainside would be ablaze as the flames raced their way down, devouring all the trees and scrub until it reached the first houses on the outskirts of town before they managed to put it out.

All I could do was nod though, heart thudding and the taste of you still on my lips a reminder of what had just happened. You kept your hand in mine until we rounded the bend and then let go to raise it in signal of where we were.

fire

you

set me on fire.

like a love poem

along the edges of the page

as the flame burns brighter

and brighter

until there is nothing left

but ashes.