HeyJaredlittle bird poet
Literary Sanctuary Poems and essays on grief, love, and the quiet in-between moments of daily life — for anyone finding their way through loss, tenderness, or simply the ordinary. New writing most weeks.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 10
- Latest publication
- Sep 2, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 15, 2026
Latest issues
The Flying Was Real (opens the original)
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I watched a young guy on a small motorbike pop a wheelie down the middle of the street.There was no one else around, just me on the sidewalk as he carefully placed his knee on the seat and then pulled the front of the bike up and rode for a surprisingly long stretch on one wheel.Okay, yes. It was dangerous. I’m pretty sure it was illegal too. He could have hurt someone, caused an accident. Did I mention he wasn’t wearing a helmet?But I didn’t look at him and think, What are you doing? You fool.I
My Friend is 100 (opens the original)
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In two months, my friend will be 101 years old.I’ve known him for more than 30 years, but I hadn’t seen him for a few. His son had told me that he’d developed dementia in the past few years, and I wasn’t sure if he would remember me. But I really wanted to see him.Before I went, I bought him a green tea Frappuccino because I remembered it had once been his favourite drink.When I first met Nobu, I knew we would be friends. We shared many dinners together over the years, and whenever we came to th
I Found My Father in a Drawer (opens the original)
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I found my father, in a drawer.He was there in a stack of folded and refolded letters he had saved for 73 years, letters he wrote to his mother and father when he was twenty, after leaving Saskatoon for Vancouver, a 48-hour, 1,000-mile train ride, to go to university. He somehow kept them for the rest of his life.My father died at ninety-three. And here, all those years later, was the boy he had been. Homesick. Careful with money. In love. Trying so hard to make his parents proud.I sat down and
I Took Myself to Dinner (opens the original)
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I took myself to dinner alone three times last week on Salt Spring Island and asked for the good table.Not lonely. Alone. There is a difference.As people get older, many of us become increasingly attached to home. I understand why. There is tremendous comfort in knowing exactly where everything is: your own bed, your own coffee mug, the grocery store where you know which aisle has the olive oil, the familiar road home.There is something lovely about that kind of familiarity. But I also think the
Postcards from the Box, No. 5 (opens the original)
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The Missed Goodbye Harrison Hot Springs, BC → Ladner, B.C.It’s a small, breathless note, but it opens a door onto a side of this story that we haven’t seen before: possible illness, convalescence, and a resort known as much for healing as for holiday.This week’s card from the chocolate box takes us somewhere new: a hotel room at Harrison Hot Springs, just after a departing bus has rounded the corner. There is no leisurely holiday chat here. The person sending the postcard arrives at Jenie’s room
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