to_remind_me_of_what_i_wished blueberries on the day of my sudden happiness, there was nutmeg in the air. steaming chai, stovetop. "sit down," you said, unbuttoning your red and white snowflake sweater. your cheeks were blushed from the pre-thanksgiving morning's chill. "i have something to remind you of what you wished for." i scraped the thrift store chair across the vintage linoleum forcing the siamese from repose. it sat up cross-eyed and with non chalance stretched and then leapt silently away. "you're so canadian," i said, as you poured my tea and pushed an enrico's biscotti in front of me. dried apricot, my favourite. that wasn't all. there was a small tin box with a child's painting of a sun. yellow on blue, faded as if it was from the 4o's. "open it," you said, smiling. i could live inside your dimples. i lifted the lid. you giggled seductively. it was a key to the seret house. 011115 what's it to you? who go blather from