This Bar Has a Canadian Bear
Camera
There were no imaginary bears
you said would come
at two a.m. They drifted
above the skyline out of sight,
dream-like,
the promise of bears. The shapes
of clouds intended to ease
all the sadness of static TVs.
If only we dreamed elderflowers,
honeybees, things that meant
our desires were closer to Earth.
I sat and watched the fire
catch, claw our throats into
screams,
awaiting the desperate release
we were sure bears would bring.
Character Sketch
This horrible portfolio
of nude sketches
will get you nowhere,
he said. The snap
of teeth through a pear’s
flesh. Flesh of a pair.
I saw the chance of us
slowly receding
on a railway platform.
You looked like a God
sadness bent a knee to,
all the white candles
left unlit and wanting.
I was only so invested
in performative agony.
Only so willing
to be under
the thumb of some
would-be giant, arrogant
among the clouds,
where the golden harp
where the golden harp
plays nothing
but sentimental blues -
the kind of tunes
to make you rethink
your entire life.
Tiffany is
working hard on her dream of writing. Her work is published or forthcoming in
Okay Donkey, Collective Unrest, Rabid Oak and The Mantle among others. She
loves tea and cats and can be found @tiffobot on Twitter.
