I need your help; a Facebook love story.

I have a very important task for you, fellow bloggers and blog readers.

I’m from a small community on the Labrador coast called St. Lewis. And though you most definitely have not heard of it, this little town has been my home for over 20 years. I love this place and its people.

Now, as a social media coordinator, I’m pretty much on Facebook all the time. It’s basically my desktop wallpaper. And I would love to be able to show some community pride by listing St. Lewis as my hometown. But I can’t.

I’ve messaged Facebook a few times pretty much begging them to list St. Lewis as a community/town/city so that I can share this information with my friends! I’m proud of my town and want to show it off. But I haven’t gotten any replies.

So then I did a little research. From what I understand St. Lewis can be listed as a city in which I can classify as my hometown IF the page created about St. Lewis gets enough ‘likes’.

So a few paragraphs later, this is what I’m asking you. Please ‘like’ this page about St. Lewis so the people clicking away at the keys behind the scenes at Facebook will finally categorize the town that I lived 20 years of my life in as, in fact, a real place. A visitable place.

So please, give it some consideration. And if you find yourself travelling the Trans Labrador Highway, or hopping a ferry across the Strait of Belle Isle, don’t forget about my little town that you ‘liked’. Because you truly don’t want to miss it.

Love,

M.

Treasure.

treasure

The paper was laid on the desk in the middle of the room.
There was no pencil, no pen, no lines swollen on the page.
I was curious.
What if there’s something on the other side?
I watched the ink dry on my own paper as I contemplated the journey to flip the paper on the desk,
In the middle of the room, with no pencil and no pen.
What if there’s something written there? Something I wouldn’t want to see.
Couldn’t accept.
Couldn’t decipher.
What if the paper that appeared blank,
In the middle of the room, with no pencil and no pen,
Was a treasure map?
What if it led me to the X that marked the spot?
What if I was already there?
What if this was a trap?
What if this paper, in the middle of the room, on a ragged wooden desk full of splinters,
Was in fact not a piece of paper – blank, nor full of discarded words – but was in fact a photograph,
Flipped to hide its muse.
I had to see.
I signaled my brain that I wanted to move, so I did.
I walked over and stood above, staring at the paper with no pencils, no pens, no lines, on the ragged wooden desk full of splinters in the middle of the room.
I placed my hand on the small white square and closed my eyes.
This could be anything.
This could mean anything.
I flipped it over, in haste,
-like tearing off a bandage-
and there it was.
It was a picture.
It was a photo of you,
taking a photo of me,
when I was happy.
I had found my buried treasure.

M.

One without.

We can’t be one without.

I saw you at a cabin.
You sat with your legs dangling over the deck,
not nearly touching.
I saw the drink you mixed and wondered, rye?
You’re too smart for beer, I see.
I thought I might extend,
my hand.
Take chances.
I wondered if you’d feel the same.

We’d snap photos and compare stories in the field,
while in the field.
I’d wonder if you felt the same.
I keep picturing that counter overlooking
the water.
Where I laid my hands and waited.
Where you entered
my heart and didn’t leave.

M.