October 19th, 1989
I was born with a blue stone in my mouth.
Over time people told me,
My, what big eyes you have.
A doctor once stopped my mother on the street
while she pushed me in a stroller.
If only I was twenty years younger!
I hid the stone under my tongue.
As I grew older, the stone turned to glass.
I became acquainted with the smell of tar,
delicate and unearthly in the darling black.
The branches of shrubs scratched my skin.
White flowers grew all around me like a fence
or delivered to the house in a truck.
I can’t remember which.
January 1st, 2015
In my dreams my great grandmother
sends me text messages
about not losing her jewellery.
I once had a map for complex emotions.
What exactly does it mean
to be “high functioning”?
I found my first grey hair.
My glass face and I have taken to the bed.
The remains of the white milkweed
grow emphatically beneath my body.
When I was little, I adored a plaster mold
of my mother’s teeth.
I came to know the exact position
of her incisors, canines, bicuspids.
Caressed the tiny indents on each molar.
I admired the porcelain cast
with the hope that my baby teeth
would take the same perfect form.
Sara Jane Strickland’s work has appeared in Room and is forthcoming in Joyland. She currently lives in Toronto where she is an MFA candidate through the University of Guelph and the editor of Petal Journal.