A Poem For a Rainy Day

About moths, hogs, and bras that don't fit

Hello, dear reader! Happy Spring. This week I’m trying something new. It’s a rainy day here in Montreal and I’m feeling… poetic. So here’s a poem I wrote with the first line of every essay I published since launching my newsletter. Enjoy!

Illustration by Montreal artist La Pimbêche. I haven’t eaten a poutine in a while. Time to break the dry spell.

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I like my obsessions.
I love chairs.
A couple of months ago, 
at the beginning of this year’s freezing 
and unnecessarily long Montreal winter, 
I found a little brown moth in my apartment.

I recently flicked through an old notebook I had 
as a teenager.
“My flow is so heavy this week,” 
I said to my husband 
as I scrubbed my beige pants 
in the hotel sink.

Every couple of years, 
I feel like slapping on some chaps, 
hopping on a “hog,” 
and being bad to the bone.
I’m suffering from a bad case of FOMO.

Speaking of stories 
nobody asked me to write, 
today’s essay 
is about another uneventful summer.
I’ve been working on an essay 
about a magician 
that came to my house last week.

Reminisce this.
Sometimes I fantasize 
about having a basement 
so I can say “Le party est en bas. Aouaye dans cave!” 
(The party’s in the basement. 
Downstairs you go!) 
to a bunch of kids
while us parents eat chips 
around a gigantic kitchen island.

Have you ever committed to something 
and wondered, 
“What the f**k was I thinking?”
When people ask me about my astrological sign, 
I always reply Virgo.

Six months ago, I launched
Obsessed: A Newsletter.
I recently 
sorted through several boxes of mine 
in my parents’ basement.
I called one of my friends the other day 
to inquire about 
her favourite Christmas movies.

All I’m asking 
is that you reconsider our Christmas plans.
"Please don't do it," 
my husband said
as he rolled his eyes.
There are forty-four unread emails in my inbox.

I’m one of those women
who walks around
with a bra that doesn’t fit.
I’ve been working
on a novel manuscript
since last Fall 
and I’ve just reached 40,000 words.
Before I realized I was a writer, 
I wanted to be an actress.