Sylvie Hill

Wolves

When I held out my leather mit again
That he bought me so I could play the game
And said, “when is he coming back this way?”
She waved me away.

When there was a Christmas Eve accident
And the one got out of the car to sort it
I gave her a pen so she could record incident.
She told me stop talking.

When my knee cap was enflamed in fluid
And I couldn’t walk properly nor human.
She told me to walk normal and “stop it.”
She said she didn’t like hospitals.

So when I found myself in Tottenham Court Road
At the bar with you annoyed with me and cold.
Where I was so drunk I pissed my drawers.
I was not an individual.

Looking back, I could have got mugged or worse.
Was carted down the alley till you returned.
You got me home fine and kept me alert.
Who cares if I get hurt.

When I felt angered and not fulfilled with that boyfriend
And tried to say it and he cried like a baby again.
Quickly my needs again ignored in that relationship.
Who cares what I expect.

Do you see a pattern? Do you know my tales?
Do you see I’ve been taught to care less for myself?
Ever sink a blade in a fresh steak?
Ever buzz off of a hug of oxytocin?
That moment of perfection when all is perfect?
And you can feel it, feel it, full circle almost?

In my most unglorious of moments: my truest self.
Reduced to vulnerable child who’s of no importance.

You saying you got me home OK
Is like my mom saying, “I made you supper, didn’t I?”
But thanks because I’m told I’m starving.
Meeting you was like being fed to the wolves, my darling.

Half wanting cold to feel less when I’m beaten, eaten.
Half wanting the luxury of being the attention of a lone wolf’s craving.
Fresh meat and weaklings.
Easy prey and young things.

Sylvie Hill

Love, Fishing For Answers

To the woman who pines for an asshole
And that man who reels on lost love
I’m about to make you feel better about yourself
And help sort your crap and be it resolved that…

Women dwell in sentimentality
No more opportunity to nurture him.
And the man yearns for his ex’s breath (breasts)
And for their love making moments and sessions.

But do you not see – here come the genders:

The woman loves through serving
The man loves through doing
She gets hooked on the exclusivity
He gets dependent on the sexuality

Both are lost in their separate realities
Coming together as dispositions
Both disjointed in their approaches
Through fucking they come together.

The Cure once sang no one loves or knows another.
It’s why they say “true” love since we are all liars.
You, you love him because he’s a father figure
And she, she reminds of you of your ideal mother

How do we love separate from craving?
Like flying without taking an aeroplane.
Let intuition be a guide and pilot then say I
And embrace chance, mystery and a good lay?

Nay, don’t question the luck, know when you walk away.
Timing is everything, baby, he wasn’t your type, anyway.
Many more fish in the sea, so go fishing
Cast your net wide, they say it’s a numbers game, right?
And enjoy the sunset along the way.

Lobster meat is poor if kept in a tank
Let your crustaceans be wild and free
If kept too long, preserved and held onto
That fish my darling will start to stink.

Give space like to an orca whose home is her ocean
And whose beckoning to loved ones resonates global
If we be more animal than human
Perhaps we dispel of our tragic flaws, then
We are needy and templated from family dramas
Trying to breakthrough that history to create some new ones.

Sylvie Hill

Photo Source

Happy Bloomsday!

We enjoyed about 40 folks at my Ulysses: Sorted course on Tuesday, June 14 at McGill’s Centre for Lifelong Learning.

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I’ve arrived in Montreal to celebrate Bloomsday! Today’s first event was a tour of Montreal’s Irish sector — Griffintown and Little Burgundy. This was followed by a fabulous Bloomsday-themed brunch at EVOO restaurant where the Chef is from Dublin!