A large rabbit street side
Like a semicolon on paper,
She - with her ears and her
Small steps, reminds me of
Me without clothes on me.
Lanugo and still warm from
All the mean things I said.
Stockholm 22/11/25
Big mid-February snowstorm in Stockholm
And yet beyond reason I know spring is near,
Reading lots of Nabokov and lots of Neruda
Which is how I know the season is coming.
I need no clocks and no calendars,
All I need to do is look at my bookshelf
And there it is my window.
Stockholm 21/2/26
I am a video of myself —
Like a mountain captured by a camcorder,
Like a saved voicemail, like a grain of salt.
Staring into the window I remember sitting on a bench
Six months ago with a black floral knee length skirt.
I make too many lists and I love making a mistake.
I always forget and then I always remember.
Stockholm 1/3/26
Mokapot dear, I bought one for me and one I left to my mother.
Today I will drink my coffee black with one tablespoon of honey.
I imagine placenta as this yellow almost green cold lake of milk —
The womb full of it and as vast as the Atlantic ocean.
She was born in Rabat, my mother. Like a blues song.
She loves driving her black Audi. She divorced in 2010.
She has eczema on her hands. Obsession Night by Calvin Klein.
Maybe I will have a pear too. Pear. Päron. Birne. Poire. Pera.
I think of my mother every morning when I look into the
Mirror and when waiting for my stovetop espresso to sing.
Only a minute, but every day. Tomorrow again.
Stockholm 2/3/26
I stand in front of my bedroom window, and I imagine a hand as big as a house
Rest its palm right on the grass over there near my bike. The trees sway in silence.
Stockholm 2/3/26
My first boyfriend was a chess player.
I wish my next to be a saxophone player or a postman.
Stockholm 2/3/26
Sometimes I feel like I live in a painting
And I can’t touch anything because the colours have yet to dry
I hear cars passing by but they’re out of frame
Everything moves slightly and is also very still
Maybe because I don’t wear my prescription glasses
Maybe because I am not here I am somewhere else
The scene is one with endless wallpaper
Everything looks wet it’s a melting mirror of grass
It’s a little like American impressionism —
So I must be careful with my hands and my eyes
Stockholm 9/3/26
A man in a suit touching a bug
Brushing his hair back repeatedly
With his phone open in one hand
Maybe listening to a voice message
Gets up and takes his jacket off
Walks back and forth in front of the bench for a few minutes
Looks up at the tree and pieces of light fall on his face
Picks off leaf bits off of his jacket
Scratches behind his knee
A lilac light blue shirt and a long burgundy spotty tie
Dark brown hair maybe in his mid 30s
Grey suit and leather belt and leather shoes
Maybe something bit him he keeps looking around
Puts on his jacket like a child both sleeves at once
Looks worried and handsome but not too handsome
Maybe works at the Senate on the other side of the canal
Walks off frame
I lost him
Not once did he look up
It was perfect
Ottawa 2/6/26
I dreamt I was a ladybug and I flew to Montreal
Ottawa 4/6/26