
standing under the waxy leaves, untethered




As an artist, I feel everything. I feel what everyone else is feeling.
This heaviness is manufactured to snuff my light out. To destroy my hope.
As an artist I’m here to create hope. As an artist, I create pockets of hope. Safe spaces where we can create alternative worlds.
Safe spaces where we can be free, if only for a little while.
I’ve been forgetting my task. My service. I’ve been struggling under the heaviness of it all.
Do you feel it too? That heaviness?
I’ve been forgetting to take my medicine. That’s what artists can bring to the world. Moments of medicine.
Here feast on this image. Take a moment here, in this safe space, let down this heaviness. Breathe.
We be good, together.




floating up the beach
ruffled by a north easterly,
fine intricate bubbles of air
cluster, froth to anyone else but
reminds me of Port of Spain,
the lace-like wooden fretwork of house gables and around porches,
Boissiere House, along Queen Park West,
gingerbread style fulfilling the fairy tale romance and fantasy of being home at last.