To drag a long life out in a dark room. To feel the weight of sullen days and nights that drag the soul along behind. To half-forget a time when you were brilliant, gold and green. To long for greater, lesser, other, better things life offered you once but then withdrew. To set out two cups but take tea alone, sitting there in half-regretted stillness, to dread and hope a visitation from your ghosts. (A truth: the dark is not oppressive.) To close an empty room.
-- Christine Pennylegion grew up in Toronto and has since lived in and around Ottawa, Pittsburgh, Baltimore, and Windsor. She holds a BA (Hons) in English from the University of Toronto, and an MA in Religion from Trinity School for Ministry. Christine spends her days changing diapers, washing dishes, and reading good books. She blogs irregularly atchristinepennylegion.comand writes poems.