silk / 一絲 by Jasmine Gui
When day falls dirty into palms
I dream of you
at the overhang of sky,
old sun tangled in my hair.
My exhale cocoons in the window.
I confess to the candle
alight at your shoulder.
Between language I can’t and language you don’t
(speak)
how do we listen?
I come to a still body of water by the way,
watch the words
unravel into threads:
you might have said goodnight.
Just before sleep I hear you
—rattling—against the ends;
my tongue will not surface.
Jasmine Gui is a Singaporean-born interdisciplinary artist who lives and works in Tkaronto. Her work is grounded in interdisciplinary grassroots communities, and explores intersectional histories, counter-archivals, translations, traversals, and grief. She is the author of two chapbooks, If A Carp Dreams of The Milky Way (2019) and boke (2017).
A Window is a Beautiful Thing by Alana Laws
Alana Laws, poet and rapper, created this piece inspired by my photo above. Alana continues to connect by taking pictures with words. She is based in Toronto, Ontario.
On dealing with frozenness in our psyche by Christie Wong
Remembering our true selves, but the one beyond you, the one filled with the energies of our ancestor's resilience with the silly nonsensical humors of a child in discovery. Face yourself. The oral traditions of your mother's mother's recipes, the simplicity of being with a person. Presence and revolutions of the soul. Memes and philosophy. The rage of a million suns catapulted through a rapper's lyrics and boiled to healthy gusto at the dinner table. Creating soft spaces ready to receive love and listen to stories. The mind expanse of mushroom kingdoms whispering across lands. Narwhals singing in quarantine to grow fertile soil biomes into a symphonic weaving of soul sunshine liquid- burning with conviction. And we will be dying, to live. Whilst we smirk our turmoils in a sassy humor, we are grounded in finding what is alright with our souls again.
Christie Wong is an illustrator, photographer, sporadic poet and lover of cacao. In her art practice, she reaches philosophically and metaphorically in the geographies/spaces of sharp emotions and mundane living. She finds freedom in the creative experience and craves for others to pursue their creative energies. She likens home to her creative imaginations and doodles intermittently between exploring food, herself and the world. Christie is based in Toronto, Ontario.
It’s Okay to Cry Everything Holy By Zach Polis
I’m not sure
what kind of
kindness you need
right now.
The Asteroid is coming.
The Asteroid is coming
in particles small enough
we might not notice when it arrives.
Waiting, I suppose —
it’s something to do,
isn’t it?
I know.
Most days I forget my name too.
I can’t remember before...
Before — this.
What was before?
The Asteroid is coming.
So which way now?
Who will be brave enough
to run out for milk?
There’s already so much
I am not invincible to.
It’s okay to cry with the birds.
It’s okay to cry everything holy.
You are not alone in history.
You are not alone in this.
Change is quick.
It’s a comedic routine —
bending with the trees,
trying
to
hold
still
in the wind,
trying
not
to ache.
The forest aches with you,
together, in all your stillness.
You are not alone in this.
You are not alone in history.
The Asteroid is coming.
So which way now?
I would like to know
what happens next.
I’m not sure
what kind of
kindness you need
right now,
but find it.
Take all of this,
and pulverize it
into a salve,
some sort of relief.
Stillness is a salve.
Netflix is a salve.
Waiting is a salve.
Doing nothing is a salve.
Avoiding doorknobs
and crowds is a salve.
Holding your breath in Costco
and crying for your ancestors
is a salve.
Dr. Hinshaw is a salve.
Bleach is a salve.
Lysol is a salve.
Soap is a salve.
A good scrub is a salve.
A limit of 2 is a salve.
A limit of 6 feet is a salve.
One-way grocery aisles is a salve.
Staying at home is a salve.
Nature,
in all its expanse,
is a salve.
All your towering books
and tea is a salve.
Google Hangouts is a salve.
FaceTime is a salve.
Every emoji sent is a salve.
Missing the part of me
that is you is a salve.
This poem too,
this mortar and pestle
is a salve.
Stillness is a salve.
What you are doing is a salve.
What you are doing is enough.
You are not alone in this.
You are not alone in history.
It’s okay to cry with the birds.
It’s okay to cry everything holy.
Zach Polis is a writer, performer, and poet laureate. He is St. Albert’s first poet laureate, acting as a literary and cultural ambassador for the Edmonton Metropolitan Region. His poems have been recognized on Vogue Italia’s PhotoVogue, and he has performed his work on CBC Radio. He is an alumni of Banff Centre for Arts and Creativity's spoken word residency. He’s also an RBC Emerging Artist.
Zach is based in Edmonton Alberta.
It Only Took A Day by Krista Fogel
It took only a day
For my four leaf clover
To turn five
Imagining luck
To the skies
Teaching us not
To Compromise
Krista Fogel is a photographer in Toronto with a background in Psychology and Special Education. While she loves having the camera in her hand, she believes strongly in the impact of art-making on mental health and finds herself unleashing the art of poetry more and more during quarantine life.