Captain Jack Sparrow and the Good Winter
We are Earth, Canada, Toronto-based, Peace Corps Congo-embrace. We are safe. We are apartment picking. You are a green tweed couch from an ancestral cottage, queen mattress, dining room set, and an Indian atlas. I am hand-me-down barbecue, yoga mat, sterile perfume, textiles and lingerie, and a coffee-bean-bloom-machine. We are pet store. We are chocolate labrador. We are naming him Captain Jack Sparrow. We are quitting the drugs. We are jobs. You are corporate. I am law. I am buying flatware from Sonoma Williams. We are your Forest Hill family reunion.
I am wedding. You are reception. We are marriage. I am baby rejection. We are young and second attempt conception. We are moving out of pollution smell. We are 2500 square feet, mortgage, vegetables, and red meat. I am baby rejection. We are a doctor’s waiting room, office, and examination bed. I am popping pills. You are ovulation thrills. I am period red. We are two empty bedrooms and two and a half bath. You are a promotion. I am for a change in water. We are a move. I am a daughter wanting a daughter. We are British Columbia. We are the ocean.
You are singing in the shower. I am navy-paint nails. We are signing yacht club memberships. We are learning Portuguese because we already learned Spanish. We are distractions. I am new medication. We are a hormone reaction. I am baby and baby. We are painting a bedroom yellow. I am at work when I am a twin rejection. I am stomach echo. We are depression, depression, and a fist in the wall. I am placebo injections. We are not quitting those drugs just yet. We are burying our pet, Captain Jack. You are drinking. We are wearing black. You are singing blues and soul. You are calling me birth control.
We are moving back. We are apartment picking because second time's the realization. We are good winter walking when you are inspiration. We are family talks. We are yes, yes, yes. We are office doors, adoption forms. We are getting a boy. You are buying the clothes. I am meeting the mom. You are bringing me roses and daises. You are safe-proofing the car. I am bringing him home. We are picking a preschool. We are naming him Jack. We won’t tell him why. I am teaching him to sail. You are teaching him to swim. I am navy-paint nails.