In Vancouver, British Columbia on Thursday, February 1st, 2024, I went text walking from 784 Granville to 52 W Cordova Street, and then back again.
This poem grew out of that text walk and is written for 52 W Cordova, which was one of my paternal grandmother’s addresses in 1942, when they were forced to leave their homes and the west coast. Now 52 W Cordova exists as an alleyway, as parking space, as a gap.
This what was poem is part of my still, not still project. It exists as a foldout broadsheet piece, as well as being integrated into the larger project’s fold.
The following is a view of the inside of the foldout broadsheet.
* * *
The photograph of me in that alleyway was taken by J. D. Brown.
Love the spaciousness of this poem
Hi Cassandra,
It’s great hearing from you. Thanks for your response to this poem. I’m glad you could feel the spaciousness … that means a lot to me.
Standing in that location on Cordova, in that space, in that gap, was such an emotional experience.
Much goodness to you,
Baco
p.s. look for something in your mailbox in the coming weeks