Poetry

Contest Winner

Equinox

By Jade Y. Liu
At winter’s final surrender, my kitchen becomes a graveyard for ants. Their bodies fall in clusters, form families of crumpled black petals beside an aging apple, last night’s forgotten toast. The poison...
Contest Winner

an invite to Oma, to join me in queer time

By Britt McGillivray
/ h1 {text-align: center;} p {text-align: center;} div {text-align: center;} I think you’ll like it here the way you liked to join me at Harrison Hot Springs in the adult tub I...
Contest Winner

Seeds the Dead Had Planted Way, Way Back When They Were Living Have Begun to Bear Fruit

By Karen Massey
Above the pushed-up daisies, the dead will wait with you, some fuss about, noctambulant or slowly pace the garden, limned in moonlight, some rise like wisps, phosphorescent, hovering above the bog. But...
Contest Winner

Autobiography of a Father in Six Photos

By Leanne Shirtliffe
1. The day after he marries Mama, he leans back on the broadside of a 1960 Pontiac with a tail as long as his spine is tall. His right hand curls around...
Contest Winner

That Pale And Distant Season

By Dominique Bernier-Cormier
Today, scientists wonder how migrating birds remember their way south each fall, what complex mnemonic plays like a song in their head, year after year. But for millennia, we simply asked where...
Contest Winner

I’ll Blossom For You

By Dessa Bayrock
Deep in Saskatchewan there is a wax museum filled with discount versions of Carly Rae Jepsen and some of them are quite good, actually: her spine supple, her cheeks peachy-but-not-too-peachy, the slink...

Meditations Between Emergencies

By Marika Prokosh
After Frank O’Hara / The night before they table the city budget I walk to Sherbrook Pool after dinner and for the first time this year the sun is still visible, or...

This Spring

By Kamila Rina
I am sitting cross-legged on my couch, watching my breathing intently like a miracle or a disaster in the making, paying attention to each slide of smooth muscle along the rib cage,...

I’ll Dial Your Number

By Jane Shi
5 You offer to run him over with your wheelchair. I come to you deceived and smelling of fish oil. You pat my back with your hospital gown grin. It’s so soft...