I am sitting by the oceanAnd I’m thinking of youof inky wishing stones and straw hatsFloating on the surfaceConsumed by viscous memories slipping my mind I am watching the loonsThey call for you stillBaying in the smoky portsEach methodical note rippling away forever in hopes to reach you I am
writing, art & comics
Where I am fromit’s a late August morningfresh eggs and Canadian baconit’s my brother’s old flannelcowboy bootsand work clothesit’s the tender sun on a dusty truck dashboardwith sleep still in our eyesit’s John Denver on the radio Where I am fromit’s a late August afternoondriver seat pushed all the way
Stuart doesn’t want to leave, but he doesn’t want to stay either. He gazes around him – passengers coming and going, creating a turbulence that sweeps him to the side, paralyzed, drowning. A confusion of swirling colors, pastel sandals and navy-blue winter jackets, giving ambiguous clues about people’s destinations.
Zoey lifted the bicycle from the curb where she had taken a spill startled by the military jeep so close to her rounding the corner. Cold steel pressed against her forehead, her eyes traveling up the barrel to a finger on the trigger. Her in-laws’ housekeeper, Carmelita, dashed
I can see her,everlasting ripples along glass.The river is carrying her through the earlymorning light —a linen sheet soaked with sweat.Chemtrails overhead, silky seaweed below.Sadistic figures crossing the creaking bridge,cursingan embodiment of monogamy — of loyalty.A supercut of innocence within one frame.Did you see in between the valley of her
Whereforestrange things surfacesuck souls barely knowingthey are alivecry as they’re lostto hate.
This publication is the result of collaboration between students and faculty of the School of University Arts & Sciences and the School of the Arts at Selkirk College. Submissions are published online throughout the year and selected works are compiled into a print magazine once per year.
We trust you will enjoy!