Author Archives: Erin Kirsh

About Erin Kirsh

Erin-Brooke Kirsh is an adorable curmudgeon living in the rainforest of Vancouver. Her writing is the result of cynicism and whimsy getting together and drinking enough to get kicked out of the bar. Her greatest accomplishment to date is that one time she painted her nails without getting nail polish everywhere.

Three Poems – Erin Kirsh



Packing up a decade of your life because your parents are separating: the drinking game

Take a shot for every old math assignment you find.
No chase if it’s from elementary school.
This is your punishment
for being a hoarder,
that lack of ability to recognize
what is and is not important.

Take a shot and a picture
for every old poem you once felt good about
that now makes you question if you are fit to hold a pen
ever again.
This is also acceptable for journal entries.

(Side note: If you go the route of tearing these relics of your personal history up and ridding yourself of the vile creations, please remember to recycle. Your old work doesn’t need to be garbage
on two levels.)

Chug your drink whenever you find remnants of past lovers.
Stains in duvet covers, handcuffs that don’t click shut properly
or flowery correspondences conveying undying
love, or spite,
both of which have probably died. Continue reading