I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
Month: September 2019
Each of the past few cooler mornings, I have pulled my denim jacket over my shoulders after it has hung in the closet for months.
It’s an old jacket, well-worn (in many ways), faded just right, shows its age and (much like me) is a little frayed at the edges. It has been repaired and stitched up (also like me) and has years of life left in it, I’m sure.
Extremely comfortable, it has a purpose. I remember selecting the jacket when it was brand new, admiring the inner pockets that can hold, if required, a journal or additional camera lens if I’m out on an adventure.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve always had a jean jacket. There’s several old photos of me at the lake, at different ages, in several jean jackets. I’ve grown out of many, lost a few along the way, and this one might be the jacket that has been with me the longest.
In June, I even looked at crisp, indigo new replacement, but it was June, after all, and didn’t think I’d need a jacket for a few months. I put off the purchase for later.
Yesterday, as I walked down to get coffee, I couldn’t imagine what I was thinking. You can’t buy comfort like this, not at first.
It takes time for denim to soften, for the jacket to fit just right after years of wash and wear. The jacket has grown older with me.
I’ve learned to live with it, as I have learned to live in it.
09/09/2019 j.g.l.
Posted on September 8, 2019 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
What do you have that you would share
with a stranger, to blank page of stationery?
Is it confidence or curiosity? Query
or confusion. In your letter, will you say
most of your dreams are shaped like clouds,
or ask how the rain tastes
on their side of the shadow?
We all lead different lives, tempered
by second-hand knowledge, first-person
accountability, and animal instincts.
Watermarks across our silken soul.
Experiences: we have them all, at any age.
What will you write about as you
commit your life to paper.
You could always enthusiastically
talk about the weather, but
isn’t that what old men do, as they recall
the summer of ’67, and the rain.
Remember, they will say.
Older women, instead, will write
of more significant memories, like
the scent of patchouli or
heartfelt bewilderment, as their clothes
dried on the back of wicker chairs.
Dare they share the details, or will you?
Will you make sense of the emotions?
Trapped in this fluctuating state of grace
we all try to understand. We all try
to survive in a world messed up
by assholes and algorithms.
What will you share that might
help a stranger cope more contentedly,
or smile a little deeper?
What will they write back?
Posted on September 7, 2019 by j.g.lewisLeave a comment
Know your fears
Know your doubts
Know your strengths
