Lisa and I got our emails the same day.
She read hers first. She made a small
sighing sound, the faintest of protests.
Then broke the news, with a scowl,
“They’re moving classes online “temporarily.”

I don’t want to talk about Corona any more
- I want to scream about it. Maybe we’ll
graduate, in three years, without knowing
what most of our classmates look like -
​​antithetical to university “networking”.

I’m lucky, I know - I’m only inconvenienced.
I roam, safely, indoors, impatiently untouched by
adult, real world concerns, like jobs and money.
So I’ll keep my head up and smile like those
glamorous, happy girls in ****** commercials.

News and novelties:

being new is their meaning --


still Without Title.

ring* ring (A Facetime call)
Mom: “Hey ***, what’s up?”
Me: “Well, let’s see..
“We have an armed law enforcement that’s scared of the civilians they police.
One political party so corrupt it’s no longer interested in serving the people.
Half the population ignores the one real power mankind has - science.
Hackers shutting down pipelines, schools, hospitals and companies.
News networks that are allowed to just make up lies as “news”.
Half the population that’s determined to be uninformed.
Social media is destroying the minds of our children.
A political party that encourages its followers to die.
A world that’s quickly poisoning itself to extinction.
Religions that endorse obvious liars and guns.
An economy that depends on our self doubt.
Foreign enemies manipulating our elections.
A supply system on the verge of collapse.
A party encouraging resurgent racism.
A badly neglected infrastructure.
Inflation starting to heat up.
A near endless pandemic.
And a **** culture.”

Mom: after a moment of silence

“Have you been reading the news again? You KNOW you tend to obsess.”

Please don't cancel my culture
it's all I have got
it wasn't my choice to be born now
to be born here

sometimes I wish I had been born in another time
in another place
Some of those places are just history now
and not clear history

another time is history

history is hindsight, and without hindsight

we lose foresight

(last Friday)

My English class just ended and everyone’s packing up (18 students). The class is held outdoors under a tent due to COVID. My professor says, “Ms Vionet, may I speak with you for a moment?”

I froze, Oh, my God, I thought, is he about to tell me to quit - has he already identified some fundamental inadequacy in my work? The world seemed to go silent as I hefted my backpack and approached him.

“Ms Vionet,” he began.
“Anais,” I interjected.
“Anais,” he patiently started again, “We have a small professor’s choice (invitation only) writing group that meets every two weeks, 7 to 8 PM on Wednesdays - would you be interested in joining us?”

It was hard to hold back a pterodactyl screech of delight. “Yes sir, I’ll be there”

“Here”, he said, motioning to the tent classroom “weather permitting.” He had packed up, he turned and headed for some nearby stairs.

I did a twirl of joy.

It's painful
A person becoming a statistic

You say tomato
I say tomato

Black is white
Up is down

This is an insurrection
By and large
That was a peaceful protest

Masks save lives
Masks promote disease

He died of Covid-19
He died

Promote the common good
My freedom trumps
concern for others

Before that August--

(strange month                                        echo)--

bloomed in the east
sunrise bomb                                           sunset dawn

you sometimes
                                                                   rose
(unbidden)

to the surface
of my mind.

These were some of my triggers:

Calgary                                                     (always Calgary)
me too
Christmastime.

And all the times                                     you attempted
to reach out to me

(sucker punch                                          sleep ****).

And then that August--

(good mornin'                                         bombshell)

the news--
for shame.

For I had fallen for the lie
(while you talked all the while
                                                                 in your human voice).

So you like 'em young.
So you like it rough.

August sun                                            beat me down.

It took this glaring
of a light

to show me
the darkest                                             of men's natures--

and that I knew them
intimately.