Writing by Erica Cameron

Erica Cameron, a Ryerson student, wrote some truly picturesque poetry in her creative writing class. Check out her submissions below. 

Calling the Dog: 

I am standing on the back

deck calling the dog

It is supposed to rain tonight

and I hate the way he smells

the next day, rolling himself

on the carpet and licking

his balls

You think I am performing

a childhood memory;

You see a girl on homemade swing:

legs pushed out front, skirt

flying up to her chest, golden hair

dissipating into the setting sun.

I think “This is why we won’t 

make it through the lease.”

Between us there is a faint pop,

a sizzle, a mosaic of colour spread

out across the dining room table 

Or maybe you are watching the 

curve of my cupped hands conjuring  

the darkened sky

Either way, we are both uncomfortable,

unwittingly licking ourselves in front

of each other and smelling quite bad.


I am picking July out of my hair with your mother’s rusted tweezers. 

Pollen and torn grass a planetary ring around my feet.

Her cool, white housecoat feels like catastrophe; buffeting and 

smothering, frenetic, against cracked skin. Sweat, in tiny silver globules,

haplessly fight back, then retreat.

Canteen blue walls expand around me, regurgitating voices

of women with hedge clippers clenched between their teeth.

I am reminded of lilies, the smell of menarche, the way the razor

feels gliding over my calve bone.

The way her water shot down on me.

A maelstrom spinning, centrifugal, on the shower floor.

Winter at Cape Cottage:  

Wood     window      wendo 

          won’t last the winter like this

a slap dash and it’s all bar room in here 

 make a move       do it go ahead       it gets 

             ugly like that     

 water bottle

          a weapon on fire

    with painted war scars now

                     won’t help with appearances

             the dock warbles

           tear it down or save that build a fence

 around it        blood pulse burn purple pulse burn purple

      we’ll look in the morning

      or when we return. for now just wrap it in ice      or maybe snow will work better 

     pulse pulse

                   run off to bunk beds.  they have no

                          mattress don’t force conversation when 

 rugs are available words fit so nicely

 there with cookie crumbs and dust from all this sanding

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