the evenings are just ours
temperate and still, we balance on
the twilight of our own fatigue and step
out into the dimming amber.
i watch from the back of the leash as
my dog makes his nightly pilgrimage to the
local dive bar: mohawks and pierced septums
await his last-call awoo at the door, descend
upon his smiling face in hoards,
offering scritches and belly rubs to the
three-legged good luck charm.
they return to their bar stools beaming,
studded belts and pentagrams blessed with
loose patches of fur.
we keep going, his long-lead marking a
meandering map invisible to me: a world lit up
in an infrared of scents. i do not pull. i do not
hurry, this time is shaped by his many senses
and the small pool of minutes i pull from my
long days away from his side and
lay at his feet each night.
we make our way through the back alleys of
east van, peppered with blue bins —
those are his christmas, a punctuation of
glass jars and bottles, a carpet at his feet
perfumed with the sauces and secret
ingredients of a thousand homes.
these stretches are my favourite, too.
the quiet march behind apartments,
the small lit portals into worlds.
the tired woman, head tilted at the
kitchen sink, lost in the hypnotism of
the dish soap on her dinner plate.
the couple on the living room sofa, always
a gentle pendulum swinging between
doomscrolling and kissing.
the dad swinging his giggling
toddler in circles in their pre-bed ritual.
a tableau of beautiful ubiquity. each evening,
i walk past this neighbourhood guess who board
and see the choices we make when no one is watching.
i cannot measure the affection i feel for each
fellow renter who asks:
“how can i make this small space my own,
while i live my days in this interim?
this waiting room in which i vision board?”
and how often, walking these alleys, i see the answer is
“fairy lights”
how each patio door shows the same framed portrait of
our creature comfort after days of holding it together.
how we empty our wallets on the counter of
the few minutes that are just ours:
our legs stretched out on couches,
our skin changing colours in the light of the tv.
CarnivalDark 