All posts filed under: Nonfiction

The Xerophyte by Carina Costom

~1~ Cottonwood Whispers March, first buds of the cottonwood appear. Sandspit Beach at Kokanee Creek: iolite blue glacier-fed lake and sixty feet of sandy ribbon-like shores. I walk the line between icy liquid and tiny crystals. Two dogs, at first friendly, pick a fight. One of the men yells to break up the canines vying for status. Now, the bitch barks at him. “Bad dog!” The leash goes on. “Somebody’s going home early!” The magic light of dusk fades. A figure with a tripod packs up his gear. Passing almost too close to me, an elderly couple walks in supportive unison.  As I look into them, one seems both ailing and determined to be here. In an instant, all—except the dogs, ducks and early midges—seem to stand still like sculptural Giacommetti groupings. Frozen, in life. Away from the icy water’s edge, a woman stands with a plastic bucket, harvesting. From afar, I can see that something deep, dark, and old stains her fingers and nails: a thin, waxy, crumbling layer, the true colour of dried …

Baba

Before I had a say in the matter, my weekends were dedicated to being with her. The quaint apartment became my part-time home. As years past, our adoration for one another grew stronger…Click to read more.

(Written by Shelby Rosen)

The Blood Red Sunset

Somewhere in our hopeful hearts we believe the hero should get the girl, bravery should win, and the hardest worker should get rich. Then, we read a tragic little tale like Cormac McCarthy’s ‘All the Pretty Horses’…Click to Read more.

(Written by Ella Soleil Parcels)

The Way Man

Going into this interview with Tom, I knew I would learn a lot, but I never could have predicted how enlightening and entertaining my time with Tom would really be…Click to read more. (An interview by Sam Smith)

My Secret Weapon

I put on my green fatigues and lace up my army boots to take my post. I am on the graveyard shift in the command post tent; I take up my earned leadership position. As I check the time, I read to myself 0200 hours…
Written by Kurt Luchia

Bones

Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg is on the table. You pack it. The books go in boxes. Clothes in duffels. Two boxes. Two duffels. A dog. A cat. Totality of belongings. You put it all into the ‘86 Ford and say goodbye to the place you moved to, to become a writer…
(Written by Beth Oldham)

Laurie Carr Cover illustration

Earning Back My Stripes

For a long time, I rejected my culture and everything that connected me to it. This might have been my way of repressing painful memories of what it was like to grow up in a hurting country or just what society had taught me, that assimilation and survival of the fittest are analogous…