This dreamy poem from Alison Braid harks back to the era of our Space issue. Now it is presented here for your reading, viewing, and feeling pleasure accompanied by some of Alina Senchenko's lovely photos.
I take up cataloguing sports metaphors. Glass jaw:
my tendency to align easily with the thoughts of others.
Busy being worried that there is, in the end,
no: end game. Books and coffee—what else?
Give up on sports. Model myself after the woman
from the weather network who forecasts rain and sun
intermittent from now until May.
Beyond then, no one can really know.
Even writing to you is a: hail Mary.
Normalcy, as usual, eludes me.
So I drink, remembering I have a lifetime
ahead of me inside the same head.
Curveball: the kitchen faucet giving no water.
Imagine someone three doors down filling a basin,
a bucket, a bathtub with all my excess,
creating a flood they can float away on.
Alison Braid is a writer from Summerland, BC. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Prairie Fire, Room Magazine, CV2, Poetry Is Dead, and The Maynard.
Alina Senchenko is an Ukrainian artist living and working in Vancouver, Canada. In 2015 she finished Emily Carr University of Art and Design, Vancouver Canada, majoring in Photography.