Post truths
The pets that were lost have either been found or mourned by now; the bake-sales and yard-sales have cashed up long ago; the evening classes and gigs have faded into the night leaving minds and ears abuzz. The flyers are gone but the staples remain, punctuating the telephone poles like empty quote marks – jumbles of silenced declarations, each a little monument to something wanted or something offered. The poles in this Montreal neighbourhood have been armoured by years of wanting and offering. The newer ones glint like chain-mail, the ancient ones are stained with rust and tar, they reward …