Grow. Like the bristles on your chin,
Or the awkward toenail on my leftfoot.
Each morning as you pad downstairs,
You stop to water the pak-choi on the roof
Before assuming station at the table by the window.

Send me that virtual newspaper clipping.
Gather a veritable feast of sounds –
The crinkle, the crunch, the plop of an olive
Diving back into its jar after sliding off the prongs of
a fork.

“Did you hear?” the morse code keyboard.
There used to be trains running
And a street full of engines
Now in the quiet, you cook me dinner
And, after supper, burn your tongue on the tea I pour.

by HR Gibs
Illustrated by Sam Meyerson

Firmly Planted by Streams of Water

Milo Gorgevska lives in the dreary suburbs outside of Toronto, Ontario. Nonbinary and queer, they identify as a menace to society’s traditions. As a jack-of-all-trades, they are an author, director, poet & screenwriter. Previously, their writing under the pen name ‘Kara Petrovic’ has been published in Philadelphia Stories, Train: A Poetry Journal & others. TheirContinue reading “Firmly Planted by Streams of Water”