"as one who serves"

So, I'm taking the time to write this instead of doing my assigned readings for Susan Johnston's English 349 class-- trust me, you do not want to get behind on readings in Johnston's class-- which is just one indication of how much this topic enrages/disappoints me.

I am basing this entire ranting blog post on information I have heard as a student around the University. By all means, correct me if I have been misinformed.

From what I understand, the University of Regina is undergoing an Academic Program Review due to an impending budget cut that will greatly reduce government funding to the establishment, inevitably meaning that the U of R will have to re-examine their budget and figure out how to make up for lost funds. Fair enough.

However, it is also to my understanding that the University's solution to this problem is to greatly reduce (if not eliminate) teaching assistants and sessional instructors, increase class size, combine some faculties, and essentially discontinue others. Their reasoning for this is based on the following considerations:
1.) They want to maintain/increase faculties that are "too unique" (what this really means is the faculties which make them the most money)
2) They want to maintain/increase faculties that have the highest student demand (translation again: the faculties which make them the most money)
3) The faculties that are facing "cuts" do not pump out thousands of students with specific job titles, and are thereforejust a waste of time / money / a problem for the government  (O.K. I got a little bitter with this one. I do NOT know that this is a direct claim that the University has made, but I think that it is implied a bit with the Business and Education faculties being called "too unique" -- I'll speak more to this point later)

First of all, I should clarify that the University is not directly threating to cut TAs and Sessionals. However, they have, apparently, threatened to cut the budgets of some departments-- ironically the ones that seem to be "costing" the University money, yet are the smallest-- and within those faculties, the cost of TAs/Sessionals are the only substantial place that their small sum of money is being spent. These departments, then, are being forced into a situation where their TAs and Sessionals are the last things that can go before the faculty as a whole is reduced to nothing.

And where would a faculty be without their TAs and Sessionals?

TAs are absolutely essential for instructors to be able mark assignments in a timeframe that will actually benefit students. Students NEED feedback on their assignments and they need it with enough time to review their work, see what they did wrong, seek help if they need it, and so that they have time to improve. Moreover, a checkmark on a page isn't always going to cut it. Any subject that doesn't come with "yes or no" answers (does any subject still have these? even math needs someone to review the process...) requires feedback by the instructor to inform a student what it is they did well on and what they need to improve on. For an instituion whose ONLY PURPOSE is to educate, you would think that this concept would be of some value.

So without TAs, how are professors to provide students with the quality of education they are paying (and paying a lot) for? What human is capable of marking 200 4-page case studies from a business class in a timely fashion? Or 35 10-page research papers? It is not physically possible without help. End of discussion.

A solution to this, of course, would be to reduce the length and number of assignments in any given class. Now, I dread writing a ten page paper just as much as the next student, but I will readily admit that reducing assignments to a manageable level for one person to mark means that I am not working as hard, I am not learning as much, and I am certainly not getting my money's worth out of this education. Please tell me, what the fuck is an English class if you never have to write a paper? (So eliminate English classes, they say...)

Sessional intructors are also highly valuable, without question. To put it in simplest terms, sessionals teach all the lower-level classes that are needed more broadly throughout multiple faculties so that the higher-level, more specific classes can be taught by the "professionals," or instructors with a higher/more specific education. Without sessionals, instructors who are teaching, for example, the 300 and 400-level English classes (required for the degree and honors programs) would have to teach the 80-something sections of English 100. This would mean that the degree program would be greatly limited if not impossible for students to achieve, and there would essentially no longer be an English program at the U of R (because let's face it, even if our English profs were super-human and taught and single-handedly marked papers for five or six classes a day, do we really believe that the University would pay them?)

The alternative to this is that these instructors would instead only teach the higher-level classes and, being that there would be nobody left to teach the lower-level classes, something like English 100 could either be taught through online correspondence or eliminated from the required courses of essentially every program the university offers.

In light of how stupid the person must be who thinks this solution is a good idea, I will put my response into a simple list:

A.) Students will fail. They. will. fail.

Some people love online classes-- but if you are a first year University student, this is detrimental to your success. I am sorry, but you cannot come out of a highschool classroom to taking university-level classes VIA a computer/television screen. If you are a genius, maybe. For the rest of the population, no. Especially if they are not in an arts or English program. They already think English doesn't matter, this will only confirm to them that society also finds it to be a joke.

B.) We can all look forward to a future lead by fucking idiots that don't know how to write/spell/speak/think because they were never required to take an English class ever. Oh, and all value in these assets will be lost simply because they aren't profitable. (PS. businesses are pumping thousands of dollars into educating their employees on how to write... my question is, if you can't write, how did you get hired?...)

So, as you can see, the whole idea of forcing faculties to cut their TAs and Sessionals in combination with increased class size is essentially just the University's way of make those faculties self-distruct/implode/fail/quit... whichever word you choose to use here.

And don't even get me started on Vianne Timmon's idea that you can have a degree program without a faculty. You're smart enough to imagine how that could be possible. No further explanation needed.

Now, to address some of the reasoning....


1.) They want to maintain/increase faculties that are "too unique"

These faculties, as identified by the University, are the Faculty of Education and the Faculty of Business. I would like to begin by saying that I have many friends/aquaintances/relatives/co-workers that are currently enrolled in or have graduated from both of these "unique" faculties. I have absolute respect for all of these people, and I never mean to discredit their education or their goals as being lesser than mine, or as lesser than any other student, for that matter.

However, I would like to also point out that there is nothing about their academic aspirations as a student and as a citizen that is better or more important or more valuable than mine. Nothing.

I know exactly what the retaliation would be here: "What kind of job are you going to get with and English degree?" "How do you contribute to society as an Arts student?" "Aren't you just going to be a teacher anyway?" "Don't complain when you can't get hired anywhere." "So... what will you 'be' when you're done?"

First of all, all of these responses would be based on the idea that the only purpose a University degree has is to get you a job. I mean, yes, of course I want to be employable. And yes, I do believe that getting a degree is definitely an essential step in the process of starting my career. But make no mistake, there is NOTHING about a University that in any way promises you a job upon graduation, and you should never, ever, make the mistake of feeling entitled to a job just because you went to university.

If you go to the UR Guarantee office on campus, they will "guarantee" you employment after you have finished, so long as you comply to their recommendations. But for those of you who have ever looked into the program, you will quickly realize that the "recommendations" are about everything else you should do besides getting an education. They encourage relevant work experience through the co-op program (or while you are still a student), volunteerism, resume-building workshops, interview workshops, skill development, and other specific goals you need to make and achieve, ALL before you get that lovely little piece of paper that is supposed to make you a real person.

In case you aren't getting my point here, what makes you employable is YOU.

Yes, it may seem to make more sense to go to school, get an Education degree, call yourself a teacher and then apply for jobs that say, "seeking a teacher." But just because I didn't do that, it does not make me any less valuable of a person.

The degree is only one small aspect of what makes you a valuable employee and citizen. And besides, the University exists to provide the education of your choice, not to decide your career path for you by reducing your choices based on what they think is valuable.

2) They want to maintain/increase faculties that have the highest student demand

I will start by admitting that I don't know for a fact which faculties have the highest enrolment, but judging by the fact that Business and Education are not going to be touched in this budget cut, I'll put them at the top. Next would be the faculties that are getting combined, such as Social Work, Science, Engineering, etc. At the bottom are pretty much all of the Fine Arts, English, and Philosophy (there are obviously many others).

Now, I say this gently, but, based on my previous point, isn't it a bit obvious why Education and Business have the highest enrolment?

I know that there are undoubtedly many students who have dreamed since they were children of being teachers, or accountants, or entrepreneurs, or whatever. To those people, who based their educational choice on the fact that they knew that was the faculty for them, good on ya.

But I have no doubt in my mind that a solid percent of students in each of those faculties are only there because they were undecided on what they wanted to do and their parents told them to do something that would get them a job. In a society where people now seem to think the only thing that makes you of any value to this world is what job you have, why would they think anything else? Students who are unsure of what they want for themselves are not thinking, "I'm going to get an arts degree because it is going to enrich the way I perceive the world and help me to develop my skills and knowledge and ultimately make me a better citizen." No. They think, "Business degree. Businesses. Job. Business degree must mean I could be a business person. Paycheque."

And yet, there is an abundance of students graduating from these programs to the point that there are not enough jobs for all of them. Almost every single teacher I know has struggled to get a job in the last few years, and yet the University keeps taking their money and sending them out to take completely unrelated jobs, most of which should probably be filled by all those business students. Moreover, particularly in the example of teachers, shouldn't there be something to be said for QUALITY over quantity?

Why not reduce the size of the Education and Business programs by making them more competitive? Ultimately, this would weed out the "undecideds" that are only in the program because they think it will give them entitlement to a job. And even more importantly, the quality of the students coming out of the program would be of more value. Your degree, coming out of a more competitive program, would be worth more to you.

It only takes 15 students in an English 100 class for the University to start making a profit. You cannot tell me that, by reducing the numbers in these massive faculties, the University will lose money (they will lose money in regards to numbers, but they will also not be paying as much by reducing the number of students, if you understand my point here).

I know that this is essentially going against my last point-- you can't judge what people want to do with their future. It's their choice. Nobody's academic choice is any more valuable than another's. I really do believe that.

But in light of the fact that something's gotta give in order for this budget to work, why would you ELIMINATE a choice entirely when you could instead make adjustments and keep all of the options open? Everyone can win here, I know it.


3) The faculties that are facing "cuts" do not pump out thousands of students with specific job titles, and are thereforejust a waste of time / money / a problem for the government

The University of Regina motto, as exemplified under their official coat of arms, the one that has been stamped onto millions of degrees and diplomas since 1974, is "As one who serves."

It is not, "As one who creates employees." It is not, "As one who is worried about the Government's job creation initiative." It is not, "As one who tells students what knowledge is or is not valuable."

It is, "As one who serves." Who exactly they claim to serve may be up for debate. But the University is here, as I have probably said multiple times in this rant, to educate their students, and so I want to believe that that motto is for us. I believe that the University of Regina has meant to serve an education, to the best of their ability, to every student who has passed through their doors.

In light of the Academic Program Review, however, every student who is planning to pass through their doors for a Fine Arts degree, or for a Philosophy degree, or for an English program-- they don't want to serve you anymore. Sorry.

The University, as I see it, is not making decisions based on their students anymore. This is all about money. This is about the money they don't have, the money they want to make, and the money they are teaching their students to believe should be valued above education.

I believe that "As one who serves," the University has made a promise to be helpful to their students. I believe that within that promise, every student should be treated equally, as should the educational path they choose for themselves. And above all else, I believe that the people who made that promise made it because they knew that education was of utmost value to the individual, and that was what they wanted to provide to us, their students, then, now, and in the future.

We should not let that promise be broken.

train station in antelope, sk

autographs, dried purple crocuses in
between years of people preserved
with hand-written gestures. the pencil-crayoned
face of a woman opposite a rhyme
offering advice and the intrusive scrawl of her
four-year-old son on the
blank page twenty years later (his older
brother will outlive him). mysterious,
a book before photo albums, leather bound
and carried with a diary of weather, relentless,
the woman i’ve only met in home
video, a passage lost to the dead and
Ella, under these circumstances,
my heart breaks for you.
Your P.N.S.  friend, Teddy.

kindergarten friend I

we both crouched with our knees
practically at our chins
twisting the rough green strands between
our fingers. the blades caught gently
on shallow callous, the thicker rind
around the inside bend of curious
knuckles. “it tastes like
honey” said james, five-year-old
confident, so I
ate some too.

minor irony

first of all, i don't know how to smoke. not that i haven't, or that i'm not. a smoker, that is. which i'm not.

i don't know how to physically hold the cigarette, or what the proper technique is to inhale it into my lungs. i don't know how to get the burning end off of it when its about to fall off, or how to stop it for later use. i barely know how to use a lighter.

i've seen how its supposed to be done, of course. i've seen the pros driving down wascana parkway with a nub of a cigarette balanced between their middle and pointer finger while the other three fingers rest on the steering wheel. the blue lines of second-hand smoke drift fashionably out of the crack in the driver's-side window.

i once saw a lady doing precisely this while her child watched a movie in a car seat behind her. she slowed down in the school zone, presumably because she didn't want to risk killing any children.

stranger things have happened.

27/05/12

there is so much i've been meaning to tell you.

i've wanted to say it so long, but it has to stay a secret, because it isn't my place to talk about it.

i've dreamt about it. i used to obsess over news articles. and then not long ago, someone who knew the real facts gave me a small window of truth and i pushed too far in curiosity. i asked too much.

i once met a family, in passing, because they lived with my friend in his parent's house. they had all lived together for just over a year. a young, handsome father, (he would soon be an engineering graduate), a beautiful, kind wife, and their baby, who i really barely remember at all, but know from many photos that he was very sweet. he was just learning to crawl, then, so they had baby gates up everywhere. my friend introduced us as the dad cut up vegetables for supper at the counter and the mom chased after the crawling, laughing baby. it was so brief.

roughly two years after this, not long after the family had left from a visit back home, the dad shot his wife and child on the side of the road, and then proceeded to kill himself.

they said he was depressed.

my question, the one i asked when i shouldn't have, was to my friend, their friend, when we were in a bar one night. we were on the topic, and my friend had brought it up. i asked, "is her family mad at him?"

my friend started crying, and i'd never seen him cry. he just said, "how could they be?"

i know a lot of people that could give a lot of reasons as to why her family could be mad. people who say they should be mad, even if clarity were present in times of tragedy. people who say he didn't love them, that he was fucked, that he deserved to die.

and i think they are so wrong. he was sick. the man who shot his wife and child on the side of the road that afternoon was not the man that i met that day, so briefly. but why can't people believe that?

people always compare this to the man who cut that kid's head off on the greyhound bus. a popular incident of disgust with the justice system, all because the man who did it is now free. he didn't take his medication properly that day. but the truth is, that man wasn't himself either. he was sick. he may still be sick. i'm not saying he should be free. but i am saying that he was not himself.

mental illness is something that everyone thinks would never happen to them. we're all too damn normal for that to happen. we could never, ever, turn a gun on the people we love. but this makes me furious. we all could. we are all suceptible to illness. there was nothing wrong with that man who killed his wife and child. he was a good man. and he became a different man when he became ill. i can't pretend like i have even the slightest understanding of what happened that afternoon. but i know, and i know this so desperately, that he was not the man he had been every day leading up to his illness. there is this thing that can take hold of people, and we shouldn't let it erase every good moment we had before. even though i didn't know them, i wish that someone could have helped him sooner. and i hope to god that my friend was being honest when he answered that invasive, horrible question that i asked.

but ask yourself this: if tomorrow your father, or mother, or husband, or brother, or someone else you have loved and cared for unconditionally did something so terrible as this-- would that mean that person was evil? that they had never loved you?

i genuinely hope you know that wouldn't be true.




may the memory of that family be of every moment of goodness they had.

[muh-lig-nuhnt]

"think of it like this: i'm on a plane, and there is some turbulence. as long as the pilot isn't running down the isle screaming, 'we're all going to die!' i'm going to be fine. as long as everyone else is fine, i am fine. this is all just turbulence. this is all going to be just fine."

old 19 road

groceries:

milk (because its always the first item that prompts the list)
butter
bread
eggs (i'm sounding wholesome)
plain yogurt
nectarines
apples
tomatoes
onion
something you can turn into lunch tomorrow, hopefully you'll know when you see it
a garage
time
chicken
ricotta
spinach
a kitchen island, with stools
a camera
a new car
sunscreen

i looked for tornadoes in the sky today, thinking about joplin and the phrase "eye of the storm." like all this heat and stillness was just the sky faking, or waiting. the storm chasers in medicine hat are coming for the weather and forgetting all about people's windshields and houses and downtown traffic that never goes away.

she said, "i just have to believe there is something else out there, because if there weren't, this would all just be too random."

i said, "i am not taking the elevator to the tenth floor during a tornado."

track five

i've determined that it takes me five songs to drive everywhere close to me, or, alternatively, twenty-three for when i make silly driving errors or visit somewhere i've never been before with hand-written google map directions on a sticky note. i always seem to stop and then restart the next time on that same song.

this is not taking into consideration that i almost always skip track three and sometimes repeat eight and eighteen an undetermined number of times, depending on the day, or depending on if someone passes me and i consequently miss singing my favorite part out loud.

this is the family i've been waiting for

The No Trash Family

By Sharon Cotliar, Susan Young

January 16, 2012

Vol. 77

No. 2
http://www.people.com/people/archive/article/0,,20559312,00.html

When Bea Johnson decided her family should stop having any trash to throw out, her husband, Scott, says, "I thought she had lost her mind." No trash? Just about. Since 2006 the Mill Valley, Calif., couple and their sons have cut down their garbage output so that they now produce only enough in a year to fill a 1-liter mason jar. (The average American leaves behind 1,051 lbs. annually.) Everything else? They reuse, recycle or compost.

Gone are Styrofoam trays and plastic wrap-Bea brings glass jars to the butcher, fish and deli counters to fill with meat, fish and cheese. Cereal or cookie boxes with plastic liners? Banned; she makes her own or buys from bulk bins. Rags replace paper towels, washable pads for cotton balls and toilet paper-well, they still buy toilet paper but recycle the tubes, along with any other cardboard that finds its way home.

Why live this way? "We set out to simplify our lives, and it turned into something good for the environment," says Bea, 37, an artist (pesky unrecyclable butter wrappers are one medium) who also runs a decluttering business and writes a blog, thezerowastehome.com, on which she documents her low-impact life.

The boys, Max, 11, and Leo, 10, barely notice their life is unusual. They've grown up carrying lunches in knotted towels and playing with recycled toys. (Plastic toys they outgrow are donated.) "I don't want my children to feel deprived," Bea says. For gifts, they often get experiences like sports outings. But, says Max, sometimes "I'll bring home things that can't be recycled," like the wrapper from his 3-D movie glasses. Scott, 48, despite being an eco-business consultant, admits he became enthusiastic about their lifestyle only after he noticed they were saving money-Bea shops resale stores for clothes, and he estimates they've cut 25 percent of their food costs, more than offsetting the premium they pay for green and specialty items. Recently Scott was the one approaching the deli counter with glass jars. When he did, the clerk asked, " 'Hey, do you know the jar lady?' " he recalls. Scott told him, "I'm married to the jar lady."

AT THE STORE

At the super-market, Bea (right) brings sacks for baguettes and food bought from bins, and glass jars for meat. At home the kitchen cabinets are stocked with nuts, dried fruits, peanut butter and pasta. "As long as they have the cereal, fruit and cookies they like, they're happy," says Bea. Adds son Leo: "Most of my favorites aren't in plastic."

NO-WASTE KIDS

Leo, 10 (with Zizou), snacks from a cloth sack of nuts. Even at school he shuns waste. "It isn't hard to say no to chips. They are gone in three seconds, then the bag is in the trash." His and Max's artwork decorates the stairs.

IN THE YARD

Now an expert at composting, Scott relies on worms to turn trash into fertilizer for his garden.

IN THE BATH

They use bamboo toothbrushes and homemade baking soda toothpaste. Bea also makes her own eyeliner, but Scott can't lose his plastic contact lens case.

WHAT YOU CAN DO

• Refuse plastic bags. Bring jars and reusable totes to the store.

• Buy secondhand; if you buy new, choose glass and metal, not plastic.

• Swap disposables for reusables (refillable bottles, cloth napkins, rags).

• Fight junk mail. Get off lists at dmachoice.org or catalogchoice.org.

• Turn down freebies; taking them creates more demand. Says Bea: "Do you really need another pen?"

• Download music and videos online instead of buying CDs and DVDs.

WHAT THEY THREW OUT

Items that can't be recycled go in a jar under the sink. Packaging from infrequent large purchases (like their computer) gets left behind at the store. "Zero waste is idealistic," says Bea. "We refuse packaging material as a statement that might lead to more recyclable materials."

Paint rollers

Plastic tie from a pair of shoes

Plastic hanger straps from a dress

Plastic cork covers from wine bottles

Plastic casing from an electrical cord

Candy wrapper

Photos

Clothes tags

Old plastic toothbrush

Masking tape

Packaging of home repair/electrical items

A fruit sticker

this is where wascana turns to broad

"I HAD A GOLDFISH AND I FED IT TOO MUCH AND IT DIED."

eugene, the beta fish, died at age three.

when i see other beta fish in the pet stores or in fancy vases on admin desks in offices, i'm reminded of how big our fish grew to be. he must have been at least three times the size he was when we bought him for a dollar seventy-five or whatever. i read somewhere, i think, that they grow to a size proportional to their environment, and we once had him in a really giant bowl because we felt bad for how they are usually kept in small plastic cups. the bowl was from winners, and it actually came with a sticker that said DO NOT FILL WITH WATER.

eugene survived when the bowl split in two during transition from one apartment to another. it just fell apart. one leak and then another, right in my roommates hands. the beta fish was welcomed into our new apartment in a small remainder of the base of the do not fill with water fish bowl. we downsized after that.

someone who didn't know eugene very personally flushed him because he was sick, on the bottom of the bowl. he couldn't swim anymore, but we could see his gills moving, so we couldn't bear to kill him. he was just a beta fish, like the ones in the little plastic cups.

but once, i put him in a beet jar, and punched holes in the lid, and seatbelted him into my passengers seat, and the man who pumped my gas said he'd seen alot of things, but a fish, a little beta fish in the jar, going home for christmas, WELL. that was new.

mrs. dexter

"i cannot stand the sameness of our days."

growing old. realizing you have to use the banister to get up the stairs. four decades of marriage, and he leaves you for the widowed neighbour. "i cannot stand the sameness of our days."


is there anything more terrifying?

the not-by-friedan feminine mystique

forgive me in advance for this.



"we should make a list. what kind of qualities do you look for in a guy?"

(we love lists. i used to make pros/cons list about the boys my roommate was trying to choose between on sticky notes and tack them on the walls of our kitchen so we could all examine them while eating breakfast. it was effective, i'm sure. but this is besides the point.)
"well. he has to be physically attractive. i have to be attracted to him."
"he has to like the same things i do. or have the same values."
"he has to be funny."
"yeah, funny is good."
"and handy. i don't want to be the man in the relationship, you know? like...at home, my dad does the electrical, the plumbing..."
"so you want to date your dad?"
"you know what i mean."


later:

"who decided relationships should be monogamous?"
(we were making supper.)
"don't you think we would all be happier if we weren't? mongamous?"
three girls said no.
"why not? wouldn't it be great if we could just have a guy to come home to at night but--"
"well when do you decide to stop with one and go with the other?"
"someone always wants to keep going."
"girls are crazy."
"i'm not crazy."
"yes you are. wait until you get into a relationship. you invest so much it gets scary, and then you get crazy."
"sometimes i'm sad that my boyfriend doesn't love me like in the movies."
"we are all crazy bitches."

later yet:

i talked about attachment and detachment with my sister.

"your body remembers things even when your mind doesn't."

detach from one to attach to another. be desperately attached and indifferently detached. latch.



there is nothing simple about relationships. betty friedan wrote about "the problem with no name," that empty feeling, the inexplicable desire for something that we can't have, or we shouldn't want. there has got to be more to life than this.

she wasn't talking about relationships, necessarily, but i'm sure she would hate every moment of the above conversations.

i want someone to appreciate me, even if nobody else anywhere at anytime does.
i want a monogamous relationship but i'm not convinced they work.
i can't tell if i'm attached or detached.




carrie bradshaw out?

grids

the boys ride their bicycles to the north edge of town, to railway avenue, two blocks up from the grocery store and one and a half blocks across from the grain elevators. the train had sparked yesterday afternoon climbing the hill it always climbs, by the carleton's yard, and all the surrounding ditches are charred and flaking like crappy old acrylic paint discs in the school's art room.

the siren had called for the town's fourteen volunteer firefighters, but for insurance purposes they couldn't pass the outside edge of town with the truck.

the boys lean their bicycles against the nelson's garage and push the gate open, the one that doesn't close properly because one of the hinges is off and the lock doesn't match up. mr. nelson's yard is getting pretty wild, and the boys promise to get the lawnmower out of the garage for him after they use his barbeque for lunch. mr. nelson doesn't use his barbeque much, but there are still some coals in the bottom.

the summer is hot in a way that makes all the growth yellowish and scratchy on the part of the boys' legs that is above their socks and below their shorts. they both have scabs on their knees, but the one always picks the crusty part back on his, so it has a tight whitish-pink scar around the edges and a dark blood centre. when the grass in the nelsons' yard tickles him he scratches it again, and wipes the little bit of blood from his fingers to his shorts.

they get the coals going pretty easily, and then dig in their pockets for change to buy hotdogs. they're not interested in buns, just the pink hotdogs that come linked in plastic and nobody knows if they're raw or cooked or what. they walk the two blocks to the grocery store, wondering if they will be able to afford ketchup, or mustard, or both.


one of the boys doesn't really remember this story now, but the other, probably the one who picked at his scabby knees, he remembers everything. he remembers hearing that siren again, and how mrs. foley, who worked at the till at the grocery store, left midway through ringing in the ketchup to look out the window and see if she could see smoke. "seems like we've been hearing that thing too often lately!" she said.

there was a hole in the back of the barbeque or something, and the nelson's yard and garage probably caught fire long before the boys even got to the isle with plastic-linked hotdogs. neither one of them can really remember how much trouble they got in, or what was in that garage besides the lawnmower-- but the one boy, the one that remembers all the details, can recall standing on the street with a bottle of ketchup in his hand, wondering why the heck they hadn't rode their bicycles to the grocery store.

a very long story

he outlives his little brother

ascendancy

sometimes i feel i can't handle the past.

i left part of myself there, and lately my heart feels too full and rampant when i go back. if there were a formula for the feeling, it would be two parts longing and one part disappointment.

i thought once that my past created me, but now i'm not sure, because a lot of it wasn't what i thought it was. i thought i was supposed to build every new day on the day before, but maybe that's only what i think now that i look back and see faulty elements. i'm self-detonating.

sometimes i wonder if that small torment will ever go away. its like a subtitle over the film reel of all those creating memories, indicating all the dishonest crap. there are days when i just want to scream, you should feel so guilty, and i'm sick about how different things would be if i had known.

but other days, that one part disappointment tastes weak, and i have no idea where i'd rather be, or how else it could've all been put together.

thrilling

today i saw a small silver hatchback rear-end a black SUV.

three little kids danced on the street corner, cheering for the miniature wreckage. the smallest one's face was so dirty, and he wore two crusted fleece jackets, the kind with the three-quarter zipper.

they were both on backwards.

a tribute to thievery

she told me about how she slipped and fell down fifteen marble stairs. windshield wipers, she said. she can't look at windshield wipers. its been sixteen years and she knows she's brain damaged. her jaw dislocates on planes.

she said, pain is pain, if you feel it, its real. but you can't live believing your pain is worse than everybody else's, because it's not.

this made me think about a month before that, when i met a man by the carts in the parking lot. he was struggling with two fingers to get a loonie out of a plastic change purse he kept in his breast pocket. i said, here, just take my cart. but he looked at me very seriously and said no, no ma'am. i don't leave any debt unpaid.

and then just the other night, when my lover kissed my face in the dark, and said he loved me and goodnight, i swear i saw at least four-plus-two years floating away from me.

they just drifted away in boredom, like those strange particle lights you sometimes see in the night.

revisited III

roommates

we are all just supplements, landmarks
along the way to wherever it is
we’re going again.
i think somewhere between
the smell of burnt hair
and garbage fights, we became
family;  maybe not in the unconditional sense
but in that tolerable way. we came
together as temporary
solutions to the bigger question,
stuck together while we trained
for the marathon, and now
come spring, we will
disband, scattered among
stories of beds in elevators and
not “keeping in touch.” we are all just
space-fillers, and time-fillers, happening
to love in a way that grows long after
we’ve forgotten where influence
sewed its beans.

revisited II

The Widower’s Portrait

We should have learned to skate, then,
I think. Her eyes seem tired, but still she looks at me and says
she feels okay despite her pain. And
though I know the photo made her sad,
seeing us so young had made her face brighten.
We are too young for where we are now,
looking at photos in which
our bodies were still filled with life and she was
untouched by the weakening of
age. We were two kids once, before we were
lovers, spouses, parents.
Why hadn’t we learned to skate, as
the winter turned the dam to ice so
all the other kids would play?
We were too serious, serious with
all that hadn’t happened yet.
Now we’re waiting for a cancer to come and take everything,
forgetting all we haven’t had yet. She says
“We’ve had so much,” but, We
 are so close to losing it all, I think.
illness has come to claim her, and we—
she has been my whole life.
She has been my whole life.
Illness has come to claim her and we
are so close to losing it all. I think,
We’ve had so much. “But we’re
forgetting all we haven’t had yet,” she says
now. “We’re waiting for a cancer to come and take everything
that hasn’t happened yet.”
We were too serious, serious when
all the other kids would play.
The winter turned the dam to ice, so
why hadn’t we learned to skate, as
 lovers, spouses, parents?
Age? We were two kids once. Before, we were
untouched by the weakening of
our bodies. We were still filled with life and she was
looking at photos in which
we were too young for where we are now.
Seeing us so young had made her face brighten,
though I know the photo made her sad.
She feels okay, despite her pain, and
I think her eyes seem tired, but still she looks at me and says,
“We should have learned to skate, then.”