BREATH / JAZZ / POETRY

On December 15, 2024, I walked into Saintuary, a coffee shop in the heart of Winnipeg’s Exchange District, for the first time. Immediately, I was enamoured by its holographic wall backdrop, its Toronto street style-inspired art, and its lofty layout. I ordered the drink that would later become my usual (an iced oat lavender latte), and brought it to the second floor.

What struck me about Saintuary, aside from its aesthetic, was the kindness of the staff. They quality checked my drink and brought me multiple glasses of water without my having to ask. At one point, the owner, Scott, came over to personally introduce himself and share the story of his business with me. A barber-turned-barber shop owner, this was his first foray into coffee culture.

“You’ve done a great job with the space,” I commented, “This feels like I’ve stepped out of Winnipeg and into Montreal or Toronto.”

Leaning over the ledge, we went back and forth about our world travels. Looking down at an empty gallery below, I asked what the space would be used for. “I’m open to event ideas,” said Scott, “So far, the main one I have planned is my buddy’s wedding next year.”

“You know what would be perfect for this size of space,” I offered, “A poetry night.”

“Let’s do it,” replied Scott.

One giggling handshake later to seal the deal, and BREATH / JAZZ / POETRY was born.

—

On August 11, 2023, I competed in my last poetry slam, the House of Paint OG500. In it, each performer brought 3 poems, each under 3 minutes, to be performed in 3 separate rounds. During each round, two performers went head-to-head, and the audience cheered loudest for the performer they wanted to advance to the next round. If that sounds intimidating, it was; made doubly so by the presence of Canada’s poetry slam champion, the incredible Maya Spoken.

At that time, I was a graduate student navigating a crippling bout of anxiety and depression in the aftermath of trauma I’d experienced while living abroad. Back in Ottawa for the summer, I hoped returning to my creative true love, writing, would dig me out of the hellish mental health depths I had fallen into. I signed up for this poetry slam as a form of exposure therapy. Hours before taking the stage, I asked my then-partner if I could rehearse what I’d written to him. He sat on our couch while I stood shaking, reciting my latest works.

An ode to Native women, a poem I wrote in honour of four Indigenous women unjustly murdered in Winnipeg. The summer I stopped being afraid, about choosing to live bravely in spite of my worst intrusive thoughts. And Love was a rollercoaster, about breaking out of anxious avoidant tendencies in favour of true unconditional love.

I saved my best poem, the one about us, for last. When I finished, my partner looked up at me with guilt, and I couldn’t understand why.

“Did I say something wrong?” I asked inquisitively, wondering where the poems needed changes.

My then-partner got up from our couch, wrapped a hand around my waist, and bent down to kiss me on the forehead.

“No baby,” he cooed, “It’s perfect.”

At House of Paint, I performed the first two poems. I was voted out before I got to share the third. My partner broke my heart three days later.

—

I mustered two poems in all of 2024. One was in solidarity with Palestine. The other, I wrote for a boy. My then-partner had broken up with me mere weeks before our shared decision to move to England together. Three thousand dollars down on a Visa, I moved across the Atlantic. There, I poured my everything into being enough to fulfil his promise that our breakup was a “see you later, not a goodbye.” I don’t regret it; my London era was a special one that gifted me a writing scholarship, a badass poetry community, and some of my life’s greatest friendships. But the life I had just begun building came crashing down fast when I found myself jobless, homeless and blocked by the man I’d spent years centring my life around.

Defeated, I resigned to building a life in the hometown I never thought I’d return to. When I met a boy who was artsy and poetic, I thought someone saw me to depths my then-partner never could. I made Winnipeg my indefinite home and poured everything into someone new. That came crashing down too; seven months in, his then-partner and I pieced together that he’d been dating and lying to us both.

Amidst my double heartbreak, I found sanctuary in my favourite little coffee shop. What started as one visit became the creative spark that carried me through many dark months. I became the café regular who worked from the countertop and bonded with the staff. Whenever Scott popped by, we’d hug and brainstorm the details of my event.

“You know what would be really cool,” I pitched, “bringing in other elements to the show, like meditation or jazz music. I don’t want this poetry show to feel sombre or stale.”

In my experience, the poetry scene has a bad reputation, known for being a gathering place for misfits in black turtlenecks. When I lived in London, I joined a collective called Heroica that completely bucked all stereotypes. Once a month, the crew would gather for an intimate show at Doña, a pink and red mezcal bar in Stoke Newington. Everyone ordered cocktails and sat cross-legged on the floor while women and gender-diverse folks decked out in baggy jeans and chunky jewellery shared verses and poetry. Every night had a different crowd and theme; some shows veered into freestyle and musical territory, and the talent was limitless. To this day, Doña nights remain one part of life in the big city I miss most.

In Paris (and again living in Quebec City), I fell in love with the jazz scenes of Caveau de la Huchette and Bar Ste-Angèle. To me, jazz music possessed a timeless soul. There was no groping or bar rail shots done off belly buttons here; just the collective murmur of admiration and an occasional twirl on a packed dance floor.

As for the meditation, that was an idea straight out of my Vancouver classroom; my favourite professor gave my master’s cohort a ten-minute grace period to meditate silently at our desks. When we emerged from the practice, we always did so more grounded and ready to approach the heavy themes of our social justice seminars. Having listened to plenty of poems with heavy subject matter, I figured meditating could help people (especially those new to the scene) enter and exit the space feeling emotionally safe.

Scott said what he always did, holding me accountable for actualising my ideas: “Let’s do it.”

—

Having lost my last poetry slam and written all of two poems since, I felt a ton of impostor syndrome putting together a poetry event. I could see my vision - a pop-up pink and red cocktail bar serving as the backdrop to a multimedia show - but I had no idea where I was going to source my performers (or floor cushions, for that matter). BREATH / JAZZ / POETRY felt overwhelming. Thankfully, I didn’t have to organise it alone.

My first connection was made at my gym. “I have this event idea,” I mentioned to my friend, “But I have no idea where I would find a jazz band.”

“My partner is in a jazz band,” she replied, “He plays the saxophone. Want me to talk to him?”

I nodded feverishly. Within a few days, I was in contact with Ben, Christian, James and Julian, the jazz quartet who would later provide musical accompaniment for the night.

Then came Cas, my meditation facilitator. We met through the Third Place, an art and yoga studio that hosts bring-your-own-art nights. After attending one of her sound baths there, I knew she’d be a perfect fit. When I pitched the idea to her, she was ecstatic. “This sounds so cool,” exclaimed Cas, “I’m in.”

Planning paused while Saintuary waited for their liquor license to be approved. When it was, BREATH / JAZZ / POETRY became more real. We toyed with May and June event dates. I put an Instagram story call-out for poets and filled my roster within days. Still, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to pull this off, because I had no idea where I would get the money to put on a show.

—

All but one of my grant applications were denied. In trickled an acceptance email from youth nonprofit TakingITGlobal. Months prior, I had applied for one of their professional development programs because it had a grant attached. Four years prior to that, I had organised an outdoors program for Indigenous women in the xʷməθkʷəy̓əm (Musqueam), Sḵwx̱wú7mesh (Squamish), and səlilwətaɬ (Tsleil-Waututh) area. While I had forgotten about the program I had organised, TakingITGlobal used my past success to vouch for nearly $10,000 in grant funding. In return, all I had to do was attend a three-day in-person session and complete twelve modules.

The in-person session was the easy part. I took time off my 9-5 and spent three days making friends with Indigenous youth from across the country, all passionate about social innovation. When I got back to work, I got to work - and two days later, completed a set of modules that usually takes participants three months to finish.

I graduated from the program so quickly that I had to bypass my micro-credential and fast-track my grant funding. Completing an entire course was a whirlwind, to say the least, especially amidst coordinating the hundreds of other details behind a successful event. However, I couldn’t have imagined a better means of “earning” a grant; I learned so much from the modules and showed myself what I am truly capable of when motivated by passion.

—

Grant secured, event planning sped up quick - by that, I mean we announced the event six days before it took place. I was so terrified of failure that I texted a friend, “I NEED you to attend because I’m scared it will sell 5 tickets.” On the first day, we sold 14; a good start, but nowhere close to the 50 we needed to sell out.

I got to work on marketing, something I had 0 experience in. After describing the event to one of his friends one afternoon, Scott turned to me and said, “That’s it. That’s the video.” Two days later, I drafted a script and acted it out. I personally wrote messages to hundreds of people, ranging from close friends to one-off dates to local businesses I thought might be interested. I talked the ear off of anyone who would listen. I shot a second video with my favourite vintage company and three of the coolest cool girls in Winnipeg. Whatever I did, it worked - in six days, we sold out all the tickets and had a waitlist.

I was shocked. Before this, I had never planned anything more elaborate than a frat party. Putting myself out there and asking strangers to attend an event felt terrifyingly embarrassing and vulnerable. But selling out BREATH / JAZZ / POETRY showed me just how hungry my hometown was to see fresh, creative life breathed into it. With that, I had no choice but to put on a show.

—

I woke up early for the big day, but took my morning easy. I spent it in my pyjamas, drinking coffee and writing poetry at my desk. There, I remembered why I do this - to heal myself, first and foremost. I reworked an unpublished essay into a poem until I ran so low on time that I realised I wouldn’t be able to finish it. I tucked it away and reminded myself that if the universe was forcing me to share Love was a rollercoaster and I wouldn’t change a thing, it had to be for a reason.

I drove downtown to meet Scott, and halfway there and remembered that I still needed to pick up cushions (Majestic Rentals, by the way, if anyone ever needs an extremely niche rental). I loaded 35 satin cushions into my car, then dropped them off at Saintuary. From there, I zoomed to my makeup and nail appointments.

When I got back to the café, I came across a few Saintuary baristas staying past their shift to help set up. I spent the next hour directing decorations and taping butterflies around the room. The pinks, reds and leopard print of it all were very Tay Aly Jade coded, and I felt proud to know myself as well as I do.

Decorations set up, I dashed to my hotel to check in. I dropped my stuff off in my room and tried (and miserably failed) to keep my belongings organised. Less than an hour from showtime, I finished compiling the performer schedule and curled my hair - the fastest I’d ever done it, to boot.

—

Walking back to the venue, a lady tucked my label into my dress. “Otherwise, you look perfect!” she told me, a compliment that made me blush. Scott’s assistant handed me an iPad to load the schedule onto. I walked in to see my event videographer waiting, who hugged me and asked if I was ready. I was. Noticing a few of the performers, I exclaimed, “Hi, everyone!”.

I peeked around the corner to see the band and photographer already at work. The carpet, the disco balls, the floral arrangements, and the music came together beautifully, and I melted. I showed the poets the schedule and hugged all of my friends as they came in. At 7:15, I stood on the stairs with a microphone and nagged everyone (nicely) to migrate to the other side.

Back on stage for the first time in two years, my land acknowledgment was a little shaky, but I mellowed out by the time I shared the event house rules. When Cas shared her meditation, I calmed and came into myself. Her meditation unravelled beautifully like poetry, bringing in the Indigenous lands and waters we gathered on. She was the perfect person to set the stage. 

I introduced Steve, who shared a poem about breath and the interconnectedness of all living things. “If I were to ask you to name all the miracles of the universe, how long would it take you to name yourself?” he asked. At the end of his piece, he encouraged everyone to take another breath together. It could not have fit with Cas’ opening meditation better. 

Next, I called Tino up. He shared a piece about heartbreak with the mic-drop worthy line, “She’s a dime piece but she’ll leave you cashless” that will forever live rent-free in my head. Azka’s poem comparing spring to love gave me hope for changing seasons, and their imagery was stunning; a through line that carried into Rudy’s (One of the Many) “Diesel-Scented Candle”, a poem so pungent I could almost smell it.

Sage performed a low-voiced rendition of a poem from a chapbook she had printed for the occasion about a process of growing into herself. Jules performed a poem titled, “A letter to my abuser’s mother”, and the line “Mary, I used to be innocent too” haunted me. With that, we went on break, where I got to float around and chat with everyone (which if you know me, you know that’s my favourite thing).

I took photos with my sweet, supportive friends, one of whom bought me a drink. I did a pulse check on Scott and the Saintuary staff. My friends were in good spirits, as were the older strangers who’d sauntered through. I had just enough time to sip half an espresso martini and herd everyone back to the gallery before we got started with the second act.

—

GG went up and shared a spicy poem, and we were all collectively enamored - so much so that I asked the crowd “Is it hot in here or is that just GG’s poetry?”. Zef shared a scene from her book about the cyclical nature of life and the dreams she’d had in the aftermath of her mother’s passing. I told everyone to buy her book (and also, to go to the gym her and I share).

IDIC Verse shared a poem called “Unbraided but Unbroken” about their experience in the foster care syndrome that left me with full-body goosebumps. Janelle chided me for making her perform after that - then blew us all away with a poem about the relief in embracing her long-suppressed queerness. There was just enough time for me to perform - so I did Love Was a Rollercoaster, without background context. With that, I shut down show one and let Cas and the band close us out. 

—

I was riding a high after all was said and done. My girls enveloped me in hugs, telling me that I’d killed it, and that they were so glad to be a part of something this special. I checked on all the attendees and gathered preliminary positive feedback. With that, I ushered audience one out and prepared for audience two.

It may have been the same show, but a new group of attendees brought fresh energy and a few twists. Sage set the stage by powerfully performing first. Tino took two words from the crowd (spaghetti, train), and performed an improv poem on the spot. I was floored. I didn’t even know poets could do that.

Rudy (One of the Many), with his illustrious musical background, asked the band to accompany his piece. My jaw dropped when his words gave way to a perfectly timed saxophone solo. Most of the other poets added a second poem to their set, and I was honoured to provide them longer stage time. And when it came time for me to perform? I closed out the show with Love was a rollercoaster and I wouldn’t change a thing, one poem for each boy who’d broken my heart since I’d last taken the poetry stage.

I told the story of my ex-partner, that after he broke my heart I wasn’t sure I would ever take the stage again. And then I thanked the audience, for allowing me an opportunity to officially make my comeback.

Before I performed my second piece, I mentioned that I’d written it for a boy I’d been seeing the previous summer - and when I finished it, I confessed, “If you’re wondering how that worked out, it didn’t - he had a girlfriend the entire time.” When the audience gasped, I assured them that I knew I was better off without someone who had so thoroughly lied to me - and that I was okay now, because this awful experience had been transformed into great poetry.

I let out a sigh of release and realised that while the subject matter of the poems may have been these boys, the event itself, and my craft, now belonged entirely to me.

With that, I closed out the show and thanked everyone for coming. I shared the backstory of all this coming together, and thanked the grant funders, the performers, and Scott, my co-collaborator in crime. I handed off the mic to Cas and the band feeling immensely proud of the thirty person team who pulled this all together - and equally as proud of myself for being the creative mastermind, project manager, grant applicant, host, MC and poet who brought all of it to life. 

—

It’s been a month since the magic that was my first event. All the stories people shared about my event and the sweet feedback I received still make me blush whenever I think about them. To date, Scott heralds BREATH / JAZZ / POETRY as Saintuary’s best event yet.

It took a two-year recharge period, but after making my comeback, I know no one will ever steal my voice from me again. All the devotion I have poured into undeserving boys, from this point forward, will be forever poured into my creative pursuits first.

I may not have the promise of romantic love these days, but I rest easy, knowing I have the love of an entire city around me. Belonging to a love like that is something so much bigger and more valuable to me. BREATH / JAZZ / POETRY was an incredibly successful start - but it was only the start, and I’m already cooking up the next big thing for us all.