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November-December 2017

Combination

Poetry by Gary Barwin

Gary Barwin

in the end they say all poems are about hope but out of money I took this poem’s hope and pawned it I spent the money on a rhyming dictionary went home and looked out the window from my apartment you can see Hamilton mountain which is really just an escarpment like a mountain without […] More »
November-December 2017

Bad Actress

New fiction by Jasmine Szabo-Knox

Jasmine Szabo-Knox

I met Ana at a girls’ school where I taught French to her fifth graders, and lived in residence until June, in a room overlooking an all but abandoned airport. Ana and I spoke little during the first six months—the winter months—only becoming friends when the weather changed, skin already bruised, bearing a sudden heat […] More »
September-October 2017

Ode to Northern Alberta

Poetry by Billy-Ray Belcourt

Billy-Ray Belcourt@BillyRayB

after joshua jennifer espinoza here, no one is birthed only pieced together. i tire myself out pretending to have a body. everyone worships feelings they don’t have names for but no one is talking about it. love is a burning house we built from scratch. love keeps us busy while the smoke clears. history lays […] More »
September-October 2017

The Land of Milk and Honey

Poetry by Phoebe Wang

Phoebe Wang

This is the meaning of hedgerows, to divert us from Googlemap’s suggested routes. They are kept, and keep us, in good order, and are well-stocked with nectar and hawthorn. It’s my intention to be replenished, though I’m limited by what can be toted from beneath the archways back to my temporary situation. My mind is […] More »
September-October 2017

The Two-Handed Cloud

New fiction by Rudrapriya Rathore

Rudrapriya Rathore@rrudrapriya

Dizzy lay in bed on Monday, grocery day, feeling like she’d reached the end. She said a silent goodbye to the creamy swirl of crown molding on her ceiling. It was one of the reasons she chose this apartment. The daily golden light in the bedroom was another. She had not been very pretty in […] More »
July-August 2017

We See Things with our Eyes and We Want Them

Short fiction by Ann Ward

Ann Ward

There was a knock on the door. Mum didn’t answer it. Maybe she didn’t hear it. I heard it. But I’m not allowed to do more than look through the screen. I was only left alone twice or three times. One of those times someone knocked on the door and it was a big man. […] More »
July-August 2017

Desperada

Excerpt of short fiction by Sofia Mostaghimi

Sofia Mostaghimi@sofiamosta

After Shanghai, I caught a cheap flight to Bangkok. In the sky, I met a group of Australians who joked about North Korea and Kim Jong-il the whole time and who said “g’day mate” for my pleasure. We parted ways at the airport then I travelled to Ko Phangan, where I think I was roofied at […] More »
July-August 2017

Our Mapless Season

New poetry by Canisia Lubrin

Canisia Lubrin

I too am redacted, unsuitable reptilian, shell of speech I have forgotten, unless ravines can drown each sound they cup from my throat. Exposed against this anemone August is a way of unlearning the untaken graft of leeching questions, a mischief starved in whys. Why-because too much is the way of knowing the chrysalis before […] More »
July/August 2017

Bordersong

New poetry by Natalie Wee

Natalie Wee@natweewriter

That morning     on a hostile beach, eyes fixed on glimmering edges    of the old world, you were already forgetting     your real name. Not the one borne from parents’ careful     knowledge of glamor ous silver screens & all-     american sweethearts, each syllable leashing your neck     […] More »
July-August 2017

My Landlord is a Spider

Fiction by Jordan Moffatt

Jordan Moffatt@jordanmoffatt

A life-hack I read on the internet told me to avoid landlords who are late for the first meeting. If I had followed the life-hack, I wouldn’t be living where I live now, which is in the sewer. So that’s another lesson I had to learn the hard way. I was waiting for a potential […] More »
July-August 2017

Notes on Stones and Flowers

Poetry by Basia Gilas

Basia Gilas

I’ve made a note and stuck it to my desk: Don’t be less of a flower but, could you be more of a stone at the same time? —Mary Ruefle  The first philosopher rubbed fur against amber, which then drew feathers and hair to it like a magnet. This was evidence of the stone’s soul […] More »