moving forward.

I feel it behind my eyes.

It’s a pressure

Tasting sweet and also a little bitter

I leave with my heart in my back pocket.

It’s scared. I am quiet as I start walking

because the story is so strong.

I realize I am underestimating the power of what we are doing.

Our creation.

It’s haunting. I read articles of women whose voices are not heard.

I stop. I swallow. I say out loud.

This is why I am doing all of this. To grant a story it’s voice.

I walk. Step by step, my belly still heavy. It’s lying in there.

The story. The voices. Your voices.

It’s sweet and bitter because watching you I see your trust. Your innocence. Our innocence. And I can’t stop thinking how important this piece is.

my heart is thawing. it drips through the fabric of my jeans.

it's still beating strong. 

and it assures me. move on. keep going. the story will unravel.

it so needs to be heard!

so i plant my feet. and i step my steps. and the wind drives through my hair. and the world turns. and the stories hang on to the edge of my coat. 

and i move forward.

there is a piece of trust sitting in the back corner of my heart. i will blow it up into the biggest balloon and sail towards the horizon.

it will still be there tomorrow.

he enters with a mission
the 50% basket. if nothing is in it that he likes
he always turns to me and says:
"will be back tomorrow"
cuz tomorrow the 30% off bread will be 50% off.
today he came in while i was talking to another customer.
she and i talked about the fact that money seems to disappear a lot
faster than we make it.
we laugh. haha, funny us.  bad, bad money.
he found what he was looking for, she leaves.
his coat is so yellow i always think the sun is standing
right in front of me.
we chat. he always has a wisdom of the day for me.
today he says:
"it will still be there tomorrow. if you go inside a store and you feel
the urge to buy something, just tell yourself 'it will still be there tomorrow'.
then keeping your hands close to your body walk out and go home. i promise
you in most cases you will have forgotten tomorrow what you so desperately thought
you needed in that moment. i saved so much money over the years. of course,
it took me about 50 years to figure this out".
he laughs.
i look at him while he is talking. and it's one of those moments when i know
whatever he is telling me will stay with me forever.
you know what i mean? when you look into the eyes of a stranger as he/she
is telling you something and you feel that message was meant to be passed on to you from beyond
what's meeting our eyes? whatever that is. energy. universal wisdom. karma.
i thank him and tell him that i will remember it.
he takes his 50% off bag of bread and heads out.
so far i never really took the time to listen to him. sometimes he talks a lot and his
jokes are not very funny and sometimes offensive. but today, i felt we connected.
i hope he will be there tomorrow.

the only good thing here is sleep.

she said.
you know how one story can ignite a different one?
i was talking to my friend today and she had recently worked with a
senior friend herself as well.
the lady couldn't speak anymore so communication was difficult.
and yet, that sentence stuck with me when my friend said it.
the only good thing here is sleep.
she was living in once of those homes that are packed up right unto
the rooms with people who can't care for themselves anymore.
like sardines they lie or sit beside, in front and behind each other.
the only good thing here is sleep.
and so my friend would come and sit with this lady for an hour.
just sit and watch the other people walk by in the hallways or outside.
one hour and then they would part.
she died 10 hours into their visits. left.

the only good thing here is sleep.

i hope that wherever she is now, we would fine her dancing, singing, jumping rope,

climbing mountains and eating chocolate covered almonds all day and night.

because i think she slept enough while she was with us.

i like this lady.

she stands amongst piles of
things
and sorts through them like a queen.
she knows her space.
i observe her from a distance smelling
the old basement odor that this house
keeps dear to its heart.
this picture of her, my senior friend,
is imprinted into my memories
we are looking for the closest expire date
of the hundreds of energy drinks she keeps
stacked in her basement
she buys them when they are on sale
and she has lots of them
it's the good stuff, you know, honey?
i glance down to the ingredients on the
package of the red colored plastic bottles
six per pack
it's an instinct, i can't help it
cornstarch and sugar are the first goodies on the list.
the rest i can't even pronounce. don't know what it is.
i wonder if she does.
my heart sinks.
sinks for this lady who has worked all her life.
four jobs at a time to raise her daughter by her self.
she never had a day off, not even christmas
she snickers at the teachers who are striking
don't give me my daily bread, she says,
earn it. and she did.
25 dollars in her pockets when she arrived here in guelph.
and she worked hard, bought a house, raised her daughter.
that lady, that stands across from me, with her apron and leggings
and her undone hair
she is still searching for the closest expiry date.
those have to be drunk first, honey.
that's why my heart sinks. because she stands there in the hallway surrounded
by boxes of her things that she has already organized by categories
all done, dear. so nobody else has to do that when i am gone.
her life sits on those shelfs
they are sleeping it seems.
meanwhile, we are still looking for energy drinks.