i see it in the faces of people i have known for years – age, time. 

gray hairs and lines, scars and sturdier limbs. 

i see it in my own face looking thinner, still me but weathered like the boards peeling paint on the old houses i can’t stop interrupting road trips to photograph and write poems about while a lover waits for me in the car. 

voices sound a little harder and i hear it in the tattoo shop banter and how we shake our heads at young kids trying hard to look goth on the corner but there but for the grace of god go i and all. 

girls i knew became women became mommas and they inspire me with strength and their it girl manicures that don’t really hide the bear claws. 

i watch people pushing forty pushing fifty still trying to throw it back, trying to hold court as a scene king this scene king that and its like yeah ok i guess. 

im not afraid of getting old. 

it means that we were alive, together. 

it means we fucking lived. 

desert city summer creeping in and there’s the smell of rain and hot concrete mixed with sage and lilac. it’s the strawberries in the grocery store in that pornographic red that make me think of her lipstick and her heart shaped sunglasses and her nail polish. 

you can feel that heat off the skin of sunburnt punks in the park in their leather vests with patches that say “fuck the government” and ive got a coconut ice cream cone and i nod because yeah, fuck the government. 

you can feel the wild under the full moon picking sage on the land while dirty old trucks barrel by on the highway through the reservation. 

it’s the coyotes laughing in the schoolyard and the smell of cotton candy and mini donuts. it’s the creepy lady and her yard sale on main street and girls with armpit hair and septum piercings at the coffee shop. 

there’s those cute dudes fresh from the gym in tiny tank tops and tinier shorts and days at the lake and white people looking nervous at their first pow wow ordering indian tacos for the first time. 

you can see it in the hippies on their way to the kootenays for shambhala to drop acid and try to find godhead in the middle of a field. ive been there amongst the fireworks and the cattle guards and the wild rides with too many people packed into a van with “love” spray painted on the side trying to drink and fuck our way to nirvana. 

the heat gets to me, you know. 

and i love it i love it i love it. 

pair of antique photos mounted in beveled glass from stockholm, sweden

found in thrift shop

kamloops bc

may 2026