We are fucked.

When my newsfeed is full of dead and dying babies

When all you have to do is scroll down to escape an image

of torture, of suffering

when a polar bear clinging to ice looks cute

when another bomb is just another bomb

when the bloodied face of a mother looking for her child

in a pile of rubble

seems ordinary

when our 'democracies' use voicemail and bullet proof cars  to 'reach the people'

when we don't stop to listen to the birds or the frogs or the elephants who are all screaming at us to STOP what we are doing

then i start to lose hope

i smile at everyone i meet

i try to give humanity a chance to prove herself

but holy fuck it's getting hard

Aleppo 
the blood, the rotting bodies
they stain our rotten souls
while i string christmas lights
for a holiday that has no religious meaning for me
dear children of Aleppo
humanity has failed
again
no gas chamber good enough
for our lack of humanity
dear Aleppo
i am castrated and a noose around my neck
no phone call, memo, or email
will make me understand
the gods shake me
and like a dog i shake it off
and prepare for war

IN HONOUR OF THE 14 WOMEN MASSACRED IN MONTREAL, ECOLE POLYTECHNIQUE DECEMBER 6, 1989 

Throughout my career as a social worker, I have been up close and personal with many instances of woman abuse. I honour those women's stories every day as I fight for a more just world. 

When I was working in Belize with the 'Women's Department' I met a young woman, 15 years old. Coming from a family with a strong Catholic belief system, she spurned her boyfriend's advances to have sex with her. Or maybe she just didn't like him that much..it doesn't matter why. She was young and beautiful and wanted to focus on her studies so that she could be the first person in her family to complete high school. Her boyfriend became very angry at this perceived rejection and stabbed her in the back, severing her spinal chord. When I met her she lay paralyzed in her bed in her family's home, no hope of ever walking again, no hope of finishing school, no medical rehabilitation, nothing but emptiness in her beautiful eyes.

 Her sisters tried to cheer her up every day, but eventually they went on to live their busy lives, as Luisa languished. While I was there, I worked with the school to ensure that she could continue her studies at home, occupy her mind somehow as her mother shed rivers of tears every day. I read to her when I could, told her stories and asked her about her hopes and dreams, but then I too had to leave to come home to Canada. I kept in touch for a while but then the family stopped writing.

Another project I worked on was establishing a phone tree with village women....a PHONE TREE, so that women from neighbouring villages could be harbored in safe spaces to escape abuse.

I don't know what happened to Louisa or to many of the women I have worked with, but I know that violence against women and girls must stop. The patriarchy must crumble. Sisterhood rising <3 span="">

the river

when i was a little girl i loved playing at the creek with my brother
we would catch crayfish, sometimes torment them a bit
poke sticks in puddles
watch pollywogs, crouched like tigers as we watched with amazement as they changed before our eyes
get lost in our thoughts as we blazed trails and got covered in burrs
throw rocks just because it felt good to throw rocks
watch the minnows
and generally just fuck around until the streetlights came on
and it was time to go home

my dad grew up near the river thames, where we live
but even when he was a kid it was already deemed polluted
so he never swam in it
he had a better relationship with the train tracks than the river..

in the turmoil of my life i rediscovered the river
where i walked ella this morning
i remembered playing with such joy in the sunshine at lake huron, lake erie, lake superior, lake ontario, countless lakes in the muskokas, rivers across ontario and the world...

and i realize that i have always been drawn to water....to paddle, to splash, to rinse, to refresh, to wash, to drink, to peace

and so i guess it doesn't surprise me when I stand with standing rock and all indigenous struggles everywhere.

because their struggle is the human struggle. it's our struggle. corporate greed, not beautiful fish, must die.

And I believe. I believe. that we are waking up and that we are going to save our precious water, and every memory that it holds as it ebbs and flows..... in solidarity, ALL MY RELATIONS.

the last snowflake

on the rusty front porch chair

makes its way to

its nirvana

...or whatever

and the old girls

pour a tonic and gin

pull out the albums

and sing a tune

that carries across

the great expanse of wildflowers

i used to get upset about waking at 4am....soon alarms would be going off, rushing here and there, kettle to boil, lunches to make, forms to sign, stories to be heard, three little birds to sing, a puppy, a dishwasher to empty, another pile to be moved....but now i understand the value of waking at 4am....quiet contemplation, slow reflection about things past and things forward, the sound of slumber surrounding me, allowing my heart to stir, allowing my creative soul to breathe