Take care of your habitat Girl Warrior. It’s the only real home you’ve got. And right now it’s fragile. Vulnerable. Compromised. And in a very tenuous state, hanging on by a...
Your reflection in the puddle is different depending on the preciseness of your presence, the direction of the sun, how it skims the surface of the murky water, and the angle with...
I love sunny days and large blue skies. The brightness and optimism of the unblemished firmament that stretches from horizon to horizon, and takes me back to my Northwestern...
I can’t swim. But I do like the water – to an extent. If my body were a map, my breast bone would be the dividing line. Like the equator. That’s the border between...
As far back as I can remember, I wrote. Private young-girl thoughts in secret diaries, then poetry filled with teenage angst and dark poetry peppered with profanity. I wrote daily letters to God in Hilroy notebooks, short stories and poems for kids, sad country songs, and raw truth-telling stories about life growing up in a blue-collar neighbourhood in Northwestern Ontario. These are those stories and poems.
