half is more than none, sense is the line you draw.
you can’t see the horizon, even so i found a place. our promises are heat waves
but our bones vowed to step forward.
it’s always one thing versus another, uncomfortable chairs vs direct sunlight.
violence: not a guess, not a leap of faith,
not thinking that maybe.
bloom is rooted in distance, i navigate our sacred space with caution and find comfort in knowing the date, time and place of your birth.
it’s a thing of beauty—paying attention to the vertical dimension. i lean on your anger and remember to pace myself.
the kitchen counter is full of empty cans gathered, like for a surprise.
as perfect as stones, we save hours with autofill and sink in the privacy of our home.
neighbours never remain strangers long enough,
anonymity is fragile, you can’t just try harder.
i’m exactly modern, except for the generations that live in my eyes.
accustomed to wanting, i surround myself with soft materials,
withdrawing humility as you draw near.
Veronique Synnott is a queer writer and artist based in Tiohtià:ke (Montréal). Veronique’s work explores identity expression, daily life, and intimacy. She lives with invisible disabilities and is interested in the relationships between gender, age, mental health and power structures. Her piece “Expect What Happened To Happen Again,” published in issue 42 of carte blanche, was longlisted for the 2021 carte blanche prize. Find her on twitter @thisisvrnq.
