Tags » Memory


Maybe I was 4. Maybe I was 5. It doesn’t matter.

“Go play with G!” and so I did. I had a beautiful playroom, then. One that my parents had painted and beautified for me before deciding to move to America. 127 more words


It Soothes

Like a book
It takes me somewhere else
It always has


Saying Goodbye: Understanding how to Leave Home (when it's not really home anymore)

It was a tremendous day for a lift-off. Against that endless blue the Prairies are famous for, the plane reached into the sky as Winnipeg shrunk into itself, slowly enough to show me my old school, the long stretch of roadway strung up with fast food outlets and rodeo bars that I’d take every morning to get there, the shadow of the office buildings, and even my old street, cornered between the bends of the river. 1,433 more words

On being recognizable...

I just harvested my first golden raspberries this weekend , and there’s been some speculation about whether or not these are anything like the cloudberries my grandmother talked about gathering as a child in Norway. 226 more words


Genocide in Srebrenica and the London Bombings

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Yesterday was a day of remembrances, and remembrances are queer things indeed. At the beginning of the day a friend asked if there would be any official events to mark the twentieth anniversary of the massacre of Bosniaks at Srebrenica, and my reply was something between a snort and a laugh. 453 more words


On memory

Memories are strange beings. Most times they live in a land far far away and sometimes they’re so close I am in chained in that old place, trapped by the scent, the colour, the song, the image of a moment long past. 871 more words



The air is colliding as sown-movement rings
with the sweet flowers bathing talkative
in the car driving slants of curved sides in
the skull of an oriole, firmly tapering stems… 171 more words