arbutus

...the reek of the bones of new homes, the death scent of scorched fir.

Father became son
became family
became home
became distance
became back then
became the word to recover an irretrievable time
became nostalgia and a longing for the real thing-in-itself became the language of a former grace
became the separation of a good man
became the memory and the mouth
became the sound of home only heard as house
became that one unremarkable moment
became six-hundred...
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rain
new drawings
cold sheets
sleep

The new year is upon me and I have nowhere to hide. I have just completed the most bizzare piece of my little life and am not quite sure from whence it came.

Studio? Where art thou?

Merry...fuck. Merry whatever you want. My strict Protestant upbringing (church school to grade10) is not doing me any good tonight. Lets see: parents and sister came over...none ate the food I spent the afternoon preparing. Ex-wife also came over. She invited me and our son back to her home for the night and proceeded to be rude and irritating as always. I'm not sure why...
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Okay, this is getting a bit ridiculous...I am finding too many people that I know on this site. This is better than a class reunion.

So happy to be done with this semster at school. I just turned in my grades today and will be left alone with nothing but my studio for the next month. I love being a teacher.