By the time the fisherman returns.

By the time the fisherman returns I will have forgotten the six-letter word that makes my head feel heavy. I will have grown my hair, and remembered the way that wet morning grass feels on my feet; or wet evening grass, as a fire crackles nearby. By the time the heat bugs buzz in the …

An ode to half-lives.

Sometimes I feel as though my life is a scattering of random happenings. My indecisiveness in the years after university and my inability to stay put for long have led to a trail of half-lives, all loved dearly and then left behind. Having recently returned to Canada after one year away teaching English in Italy, …