The Poorest Postal Code in Canada by Meredith Joy Macdonald
I am Canadian, and my identity as a Canadian is something I cherish. I feel grateful because I was born in a country with a vibrant landscape where every person has access to healthcare…
I am Canadian, and my identity as a Canadian is something I cherish. I feel grateful because I was born in a country with a vibrant landscape where every person has access to healthcare…
Moving to Nelson, British Columbia changed my relationship with skiing. It was never my passion. I was introduced to the sport by my Canadian father, but we spent most of our time in Indonesia, swimming in a warm ocean. The snow globe of Winter sports is unique because it requires one crucial element: snow. Where
A brief study of certain adjectives and how they form personality and personhood. This study draws on both dictionary definitions and lived experience.
One day, I told a student I was going to be away the following week to take a course. His response was, “Ms. Roberts, don’t you think you’ve been in school long enough?” That was two degrees and a diploma ago. My family thinks there is no reason to go to school if you have
In May, we put out a submission call. Send us your work, we urged. Tell us how you’ve been writing your way through the pandemic. Show us what this moment means to you. Contributor Sarah Beauchamp asserts that “it is the misfits of the world, the artists, the poets, the writers, and the sensitive souls
During this time the few words I’ve been able to muster have been representative of the profound sense of stagnation I’ve felt within myself and with my relationships in these past few weeks, and in general. When you have no time for anything writing can be a delicious escape, but now with all the time
A poetic reflection on writing in the time of COVID : Time I haveCreativity space equanimity?Unfruitful solitudeunceasing cerebral racketcontaminated possibly contagious.Not a cohesive worddown on paperor up on the screen. Maybe if I waitalone safe and kindsmiling perkingwashing my hands maybe This alienating distanceI am not designed forneither is the viabilityof going back to the
In his introduction to Selected Poems of E.J. Pratt (1968), editor Peter Buithenhuis shares a startling revelation about Pratt’s poetry: “He was over thirty when the First World War broke out, and yet that cataclysmic event, which both made and killed many poets, seems to have left hardly a mark on his poetry.” (Buithenhuis, xxviii)
The pandemic has been a time of rejuvenation and discovery for me. It healed known cuts and let me notice new ones. I’m so thankful for these moments of clarity and self-realization, even if they only exist against a backdrop of tragedy. The galvanizing force of global racial justice protests has inspired me to reflect on