associations

Dedicated to Ben

I found a shattered glass mirror

And I squeezed the shards in my hand 

In hopes that a little blood on my reflection

Would help me piece it back together

Then I think about the peanuts in peanut butter

How, under a little pressure, they break down individually

Under the weight of the machine

How it smoothes them into a coherent mess

And these days I find myself 

Spread thin and broken

Like glass in peanut butter

Trying to become whole again

a conversation with a fisherman

"I paid for this canoe with pop can money" he started off. "Can you believe it?"

I replied "Oh absolutely, I do. My dad does the same kinda thing"

He smiled. "There's nothing like sitting back havin' a cigarette, or a toke, and fly fishing"

"Didja wanna burn one?" I asked, fiddling with the joint in my pocket. We were in the hotel parking lot, and no one was around to be bothered by it. After all, this was Edmonton before legalization where you were bound to catch a sour eye or two your way.

"Ah sure. Where you from?"

"Vancouver" I replied whilst I lit the joint (sorry for using the word 'whilst').

"Oh yeah, I lived there from '72-'94. I was there for the first Stanley Cup riots"

My eyes widened. "No way! I was there for the one a couple years back"

As I passed him the joint, he put one of his hands in his front jean pocket, took one big puff, and rocked back on his heels. I don't say it to be mean, but he was a real 'yee-haw' type. He passed the joint back and started "I remember I was shoe shining, making a killing that day. Y'see I've worked a lot as a shoe shiner. I would charge a nickel-a-shine meanwhile a whole tin of polish only cost you a dime. Y'see, I worked during that Tuesday night, and my, how quickly the whole riot started, and how quickly it was shut down"

"Yeah, I think the riots lasted quite a while, these last ones"

"I remember the cops had the place shut down by 6:30pm. They had everyone on Robson street, and just shut 'er down block by block. I didn't mind, found two $50 bills on the road, a stack of jeans
some looter had stowed away"

"What a haul!"

"That wasn't even the best part. I found a box stashed in the corner of a parking lot. A plain tin box. So I open it up and there are four silver dollars. King Richard on them, from before World War 2. Four of 'em. You know how much they sold for?"

I was eager to know. "How much?"

"$85"

"Holy shit"

"Yeah, not at all a bad day to be shining shoes"

- Marion Jane Lefevre, 2020

mind-control

I used to believe in mind control
An invisible battle for my soul
A struggle, I wretch
I lose my breath
Who can see me struggle with this predicament?
I have to laugh, "It's all in my head"
My body jerks with a reaction
Is that really what I said?
Is that what I really think?
Can you see my thoughts?
Or do they just stink and you're left smelling
a burning brush fire?

- Marion Jane Lefevre, 2020

and i'm sure

And I'm sure a hyena is still conscious of his laugh

a nervous tic he has to cut his anxiety in half.

In confusion he gasps and exasperates

"what kind of tyrant runs this place?"

To be left staring at an empty face.

And I'm sure an octopus struggles with its clutch

Grasping at the past because it's familiar to the touch.

They cannot let go, and they wonder "is this my destiny?"

another sucker for that ecstasy.

And I'm sure a black widow still cries about her fate

To choke the living love out of someone she embraced

To justify the pain, to save face, she cries out

"what cursed arms I must posses!"

while replacing her lace the way she knows best.

- Marion Jane Lefevre, 2020