old music rings from Andy’s,
his trim pepper plants, arranged
a tidy circle, bask in Chopin and
lift their leaves in prayer.
vapour from the barley soup
rises against the
nightbreak.
for a moment,
it is as though
i have never seen steam.
the quiet wick
burns humbly
as though not a marvel before me.
and all at once,
the ceiling percusses,
gentle floors
receive tired soles,
drumming aching heels.
a familiar refrain of
sacred choreography.
does the air expand
with every holy exhale?
does it hold us,
just a bit lighter.
when the walls rouse,
baptize me in secret.
call the water through
the pipes,
soak me from the
dwelling day.
my kettle chants,
but softly.
oh, patient
ordinary
thing.
Fanny is a writer, fiery knitter, and professional artistic dabbler from Paris and Vancouver completing her last year at McGill. She is often drawn to themes of human relationships to urban spaces and works in research in the domains of urban design, multi-disciplinary art, and cultural sustainably.