Since I knew no English, I was placed a year back into grade two when I came to Canada.
Since I knew no English, I was placed a year back into grade two when I came to Canada.
My father died as I stood in line for a fried chicken sandwich.
There was an incident in the other ward and we found each other poked out from our doors to listen in.
The horse pill mocks me from the counter while my husband demonstrates, tossing back M&Ms with theatrical head-tilts.
My cousins are sitting at our dining room table, folding paper airplanes and decorating bookmarks with stickers.
“Who are you here to visit,” the hospital security guard asks.
I didn’t go to Marie’s funeral.
The autumn sun shined sideways.
Banishing my family to the other side of the door, I marinated in vinegar-flavoured anxiety as the timer-digits on my lock screen gradually morphed into zeroes.
Under the table, I sip Christmas-bulb-green liquid from a sparkling chalice being passed around with giggles and hushes.
Two hours to build the fort, which stood for just five minutes.
A tiny finger softly traces craters dotting the crook of my right arm as we wait for the summer camp bus.
It's 3:30 and the ship is still docked.
The hand surgeon, unexpectedly hot, reminds me of Nate from Six Feet Under, which I’ve been bingeing for weeks.
I will get there too late, but I don’t know this yet, nor do I know I’ll never see the hospital bed . . .
My charismatic friend M- writes stories on a camcorder.
The CBD oil is three years out of date.
I’m in Asda, three days before Christmas, when my sister texts to say she’s in hospital.
i wake from a nightmare, face glistening with sweat, you beside me . . .
I wake with a start. I can’t see in the dark hotel room, but I hear something.