Poetry By Masha Koyama

        Jerry Huddleston CC




WEST BEACH

it was very small and they were paying too much for it, so I’d given them my card. they could have called. they could have left the city, moved to a quiet town around west beach where it’s still so cheap, slept in a cold bed together, made up the spare room for guests, shown visitors all the good places they had found, shared a good home and lived for what it was that was between them, but they didn’t know how to do that, so they stayed in their unit and hurt each other and were too tired from pain and grief to do anything except to bleed and cry and eventually leave for worse than what they had. a good door makes no noise when it closes but theirs was heavy and it banged. i was sad to see it. sad to see them in there. then again nobody seems very happy up in west beach, maybe because they are all stuck to a mistake, and nobody told them that you carry everything with you and wherever you go there’s the world again, there it is.

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Masha Koyama is a writer and editor from the suburbs of Toronto.
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