by Terese Mason Pierre
Toronto, ON

Now where is the fresh store, the stash of colour
under tarp, the rainy-day treasure inspired

by hardship, the dry paint and papercuts
under fingernails. Here, it is difficult

to breathe warm air into a page; between
the lines lie the dead, the invisible pricks

in the lungs where song once gestated.
How to resurrect that which was once

love, now a task, corporeally produced
and spread over the eyes of the world—

one day at a time is the mantra, it will
come back, the wings, the beating energy

against the back of our necks,
the desire to run, to change

Social Distanziner - Toronto, ON