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  • twenty six hours

    December 16, 2025

    the train ride from sundsvall to stockholm is four hours. he dislikes the train and dislikes stockholm and the big city people. 

    he waits in arlanda airport in stockholm for almost six hours. there’s the flight from stockholm to frankfurt which is about two hours. he waits in the airport in frankfurt for two hours. he has never been on a plane before.  he isn’t sure if he minds flying or not. 

    then the flight from frankfurt to vancouver. that one is nine hours. he sleeps restlessly and refuses most food. 

    i watch his flight on a flight tracker app. 

    he sits in the airport in vancouver for two hours.

    and then, finally, the flight from vancouver to kamloops. one hour. 

    twenty six hours. 

    im in the kamloops airport pacing and drinking shitty too warm black coffee.   it’s thanksgiving and others gather in the airport to welcome wayward loved ones. 

    when he comes through that gate into kamloops he has a smile on his face and he walks lightly. i am awestruck by him. my first thought – “he doesn’t look angry” and i am surprised at this. he isn’t angry. he is calm and joyful even though he looks tired. 

    he does not see me in the crowd. 

    i run to him and grab his arm. he turns and smiles. he puts his arm around me. 

    we share our first kiss in the kamloops airport at baggage claim amongst the suitcases and trolleys and tired travellers wearing north face and lululemon. 

    he holds my hand in his and we are both intoxicated in the prescence of each other and we fumble for his suitcase. 

    we walk out into the crisp kamloops fall. 

    i take the reservation highway home. 

    we hold hands the whole way as he looks out the window and takes in the desert city. 

    sundsvall to kamloops. 

    twenty six hours. 

    all for me. 

    what a joy to feel so desired. 

    what a pleasure to have him look at me and see both a beginning and an end. 

  • canadian gothic

    December 15, 2025

    can you feel it?  there’s this sense of unease in the air that lingers like the smell of diesel and the feeling of dusty ice in our mouths and sinuses. 

    it’s just a forest service road and old TVs shot to shit out in the open field, spent bullet casings and beer cans, an old mattress filthy on the ground where even heaven can’t bear to look. 

    it’s in the forest raves by the old waterfall and everyone drops acid and has dreadlocks and crystal necklaces. it’s in good weed smoked out of shitty bongs quoting trailer park boys and corner gas. it’s that meter in our voices when we punctuate our sentences with “eh” and drink down our timmies. 

    it’s in the way cute girls with expensive dye jobs scarf down poutine in the streets at 3am. 

    you can feel it on reservation highways past the pow wow grounds like you’re hearing drums and dancers. it’s loud amongst our awkward french and signs acknowledging indigenous territories and sacred spaces and churches standing forlorn amongst mountains and parking lots. 

    i feel it amongst my people, in the punk houses and student apartments and at farmer’s markets and the old haunted art gallery. 

    when the summer sun hits the sagebrush and bakes rattlesnake blood and coyote whispers and we smoke cigarettes on front porches and watch stupid guys in white oakleys cruise down main street blasting dubstep. 

    it’s a winter morning and someone shovelled your driveway for you and someone else says “she’s greasier than fuck out there, bud”. 

    we live our lives in forests and city streets and on the reservations and ranches. we are wild wretched things haunting old blue hockey arenas that we sometimes call “barns”. 

    there’s the guy with braids and a cowboy hat at the shop selling coffee and bannock and he talks about sacred teachings with kind eyes and rough hands. 

    and it’s there in the stuffy vintage blouses of the ladies handing out pamphlets about jesus outside the bank. 

    and we breathe it in along with the sage and water of the two rivers, inhaled alongside road grime and diesel and the dead deer along the highway. 

    it is home. 

  • have you ever seen a portal?

    December 14, 2025

    they’re perfect. the brothers from different mothers. both profoundly broken and profoundly indifferent to it. deeply logical, stern, and calm.

    the people in the city see them together and wonder about them. they’re both good looking and neither of them knows it, neither of them cares, either. with their long hair and blue eyes and deep laughs, they share coffee and life philosophy.

    but if it ever came down to it, both of the brothers aren’t afraid of violence. they are not above it. knives in boots and brass knuckles in a leather jacket.

    they had to sew up the one brothers eye when he was ripped on mdma after a bar fight, but you should have seen the other guy and at least he ended up with a cool scar. the other one saw suicide first hand and tried to drink the sight away until he got right and found god. but he isn’t afraid to get loud, to get mean.

    the elders i know say that sometimes people are portals, and they take us closer to something.

    there’s a line in this film called donnie darko and frank, the six foot tall hallucinatory bunny rabbit asks donnie, “have you ever seen a portal?”

    well the elders say that sometimes people are our portals – people in our lives who make us better, who bring us closer to understanding ourselves and each other and our places within the world and alongside each other. the little elder with his cane and kind eyes told me that we find people to walk with in our lives who remind us of the sweetness of life and the joy we can find as perfect beings as we walk imperfectly under the watchful eye of our creator (however you choose to see or define this).

    in anishinaabe teachings as we age we have to find our people. we have to find our portals because as we age we draw ever nearer to our own ends and this is the strawberry wisdom. we cannot give in to be haunted. we must find our joys, pick the strawberries and find our portals. we find the sweetness in the mire.

    it is our imperative.

    the brothers found their portals in each other and i have found portals in them, too.

    we pick our berries and laugh.

    and isn’t this really true of the people we love? don’t they make it easier to experience sweetness? don’t they make it easier to walk through loss?

    the brothers from different mothers laugh together in the living room. to hear it, you would think the brothers had not ever known pain.

    so, have you ever seen a portal?

  • feast of st lucia

    December 13, 2025

    today is the feast day of st lucia, a virgin christian martyr from the early fourth century.

    she’s one of my favourite saints.

    she was so unmovable that a team of oxen could not move her. wood piled around her would not burn. in some tellings of her martyrdom she meets her end with a sword to her throat.

    in some tellings her eyes are gouged out and in other tellings, she gouges them out herself. a male suitor was said to have admired her eyes and such was her devotion to christ that she ripped her eyes out.

    in many classical images of her, she will be shown with a plate bearing her own eyes on it.

    in sweden, this feast day accompanies the old midwinter solstice, a time of darkness and st lucia brings her light and warmth.

    i dress as lucia today because i need warmth and light.

  • bird bones and razorblade eyes

    December 12, 2025

    have you seen that girl?  the one in the graveyard that dances in her stocking feet humming a song from some old movie?  she smells like death and cigarettes and she’s got a cool purse but i dont know if she sees it that way. 

    shes got a spider ring and a necklace made of bird bones and she’s got a big laugh. 

    have you seen her?

    the one with the boots and black tights?  

    the one with dark hair and razor blade eyes. 

    you’ll know her when you do.