Caleb’s Pike

20170322_192358Caleb’s Pike, BC.

I see an arbutus tree, half-burned, bordering the edge of the pike, overlooking the bay. The wind is howling through the strands of my hair; the wind is too fierce for me to cry and lament any of my hyperbolic sorrows, for which I have many.

I walk.

When I get to the tree, I wrap my arms around the closest branch and hoist myself up. I start to climb– one branch, then the next, then the next, until I cannot climb any higher.

I sit.

The wind calms and the rain starts.

I cry.

I am a giant woman in a small body.

I dance—

All the way down to the ground where I move with an ease back toward my car.




notes on fashion

  • How you dress as a woman matters.
  • Women killing their bodies so I can look good enough to participate in the economy so corporations can stay fat on this dual oppression
  • If fashion was art and if fashion was culture and if fashion was the stories we wear on our bodies
  • The stories your clothes tell could be so beautiful and sacred; my twenty dollar H&M jeans tell a very important story, too.
  • We should pay attention to the stories we don’t want to hear.
  • Not everything is nice, not everything has to be nice.
  • I will listen. To you and to the river.