My poem, Like Cherries, is free to read at Malarkey Books. In it I explore one of the best days my partner and I had while experiencing homelessness in Toronto. It seems the right time for it to come out, as we are all of us trying to find our own best days in hard times.
Be well, and enjoy the poem.
by H. E. Casson
(CW: Homelessness, poverty, illness, neglect)
I am writing this in my home. I am writing it indoors, with heat and clean water, wearing washed clothes, my skin not itching, my partner’s voice rising and falling in the next room. I am safely housed.
This is true now, but for some of my life, it wasn’t. I’ve lived in an unsafe home, a group home, a shelter. I’ve crashed on couches. I’ve slept rough, slept in my school, slept in spaces not meant for humans. I was me, the same me I am now, but alone and hungry, frantic and deadened all at once. I knew I was disposable.
Over 20 years ago, I met a person who was precious and amazing. He was disposable too. I knew him for weeks, not months or years, but I think about him all the time. He was clever and challenging, generous and creative. He caught TB in a shelter. Because of the nature of crisis-friendships, I don’t know how he is now, or if he is now, but I knew him long enough to see him fall apart. I knew him long enough to learn that illness will always come for humans in shelters, in care facilities, in prisons, in mental health wards. As long as it stays in those boxes, we don’t hear much about it.
And what can I do? I tell stories from my own limited perspective, from this warm place that coats the memories in gauze, making them less sharp. I am here in my home, safe, at least six feet from the world.
What is home, in a time like this? Home is an anti-virus. It keeps us safe. Home is personal protective equipment, covering our most vulnerable parts. Home is an avatar of community care. Home is, and should be, a right.
The Pandemic Chapbooks to Support Charitable Giving initiative by 845 Press and Collusion Books includes a poem I wrote called For Chandrahas, Who is Likely Dead. It is about my friend, about illness, and about home. If you donate to a charity — any charity — you can get a copy of the chapbook for free.
There’s a charity in Toronto called Sanctuary that is taking care of people, members of our community, at great risk and in the most challenging time possible. They are doing this in the face of immeasurable hardship and loss. I hope you will consider donating to them, and to the folks they serve.
I wish there was a way to pull all this together, to end it in a way that is satisfying, but much like the situation, there’s no easy conclusion. There is no bow to tie, just a hundred, hundred loose threads that require a communal will and concerted effort to begin to gather.
In all this, I wish us safety. I wish us a thing called home.
A good number of us are working from home and it can be hard for kids/partners/pets to know when you’re staring blankly into the void versus when you’re staring intently at the 37 people in your Zoom/Meet/Team/Skype conference. I’m not so much an artist, but I did draw this with a Sharpie and scan it in for you, because I love you. Yes, you in particular. Enjoy!
(And for my last batch of colouring sheets, click here.)
Mineral Lit Mag did a prompt issue asking poets to write a poem inspired by, and using five words from, a Hozier song. My poem, Dear Heavenly Mother, is included.
Inspired by the song Take Me To Church, and the video made for it, Dear Heavenly mother is a missive and a prayer that examines growing up queer in a fundamentalist, evangelical household and community.
To read Dear Heavenly Mother, click here.
H. E. Casson 