Deer Leap

The summer we were sixteen
our bodies became liquid.
We spread ourselves
over the earth
seeping into dirt,
shimmering in sunlight.
 
We were weightless then,
invincible,
things of beauty.
Our skin could not contain
our radiance.
Light leaked through our pores.
 
 
This piece was published in the 2012 edition of Ballyhoo, an annual arts publication of The King’s University College.

Breakfast with Regret

Regret slips in quietly
sometime around 3 a.m.
He curls up in your favourite chair,
pulls a blanket over himself
and waits.
When you wake up
there he is
dozing in your living room.
And no matter how silently
you go about your morning ritual,
he will wake up,
he will invite himself to breakfast
and stay much longer.


This piece was published in the 2011 edition of Ballyhoo, an annual arts publication of The King’s University College.

Ballet Corps Member Fixing Her Hair

Ballet-Corps-Member-Fixing-Her-Hair
 
Edgar Degas, pastel on paper, 1900-1902
 
It would not do to come undone
 
for a stray hair
landing on a cheek
to suggest
imperfection
freckled skin
uneven seam
 
It would not do to draw attention
 
for an unsteady smile
or shaking hand
to hint at
fear
teary eyes
bitten lips
 
Take a moment to compose yourself.
 
It would not do to come undone.
 
 
This piece was published in the 2012 edition of Ballyhoo, an annual arts publication by The King’s University College.