day in the life

Today my friends ( /business partners ) and I cooked Sunday brunch at our cafe/bakery/bulk grocery store which we run out of an old school bus. We brewed locally roasted coffee with beans toasted a few kilometre’s away in a cabin in the backyard of a family I used to nanny for. We baked sourdough biscuits from scratch and topped them with chunks of chicken which had been raised in the nearest town. We poached eggs and drowned them in hollandaise sauce made from scratch and served heaping plates-full to all of our friends and neighbours who showed up sporting raincoats, tall gumboots, husqavarna-branded overalls, beaming from behind their fevered and enthused conversations about how we’d all made it through the snow-capped cold snap. Afterwards, another friend ( /artistic projects partner) and I lugged his camera gear into the hulking and abandoned house I used to live in and I wandered barefoot in a long black dress as rain gained and lost momentum outside while inside I recited haunted and vivid poetry to barren and crumbling walls which were teaching me how to love greatly and then release when it is time. Later still, my roommate ( /friend /business partner )

and I huddled around our cabin’s single table, our separate yet simultaneous novels put aside, her phone pulsing with spotify as she stretched latex gloves over her hands and I became her first stick-and-poke recipient receiving my second douse of simple tattoos pressed into my fingers on this property. Now, me ( myself ) and I sit with my back to the ticking woodstove my legs wrapped in soft and cozy layers splayed wide laptop with cracked screen yawning open the quiet of 11:23pm begging my fingers to dance and trace this day, this real good day, into some sort of poem.