Category: Poetry

Jordan’s Song by Clayton Fenrick

I just want to escape this frightened disposition where I watch my belly grow and my dreams shrink, hair falling out as I think more and more realistically, sinking into adulthood uneasily but repeatedly by letting go of the youthful notion that we are all here for a reason. Muted trumpets sound and the drum

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Ghost by Katie Stolte

It started innocently enough.  Everyone stopped calling,  My cubicle was filled with a stranger’s things,  And someone new was tucked in my bed. I didn’t understand. So I melted into the background. I watched as the love of my life moved on,  My mother and father wilted and died. I humoured it.  I tried to

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The Language of Pain by Katie Stolte

Pain is a funny language / and when you’re in it it is all you speak / and when you’re not / you forget it was once your native tongue / it’s a language no one wants to be fluent in / but many are / it makes your orbit small / and some feel

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forest

A Forest Walk by Deb Wandler

I was invited on a forest walk,  a slow, mindful walk,  pausing to look, really look,  at the canopies of pines, cedars and aspen, down at the low-lying milkweed,  leaves turned yellow, the variety of mushrooms growing in waves on the ground  beneath it all. I sat on the forest floor, eyes closed, breathing in

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mother braiding daughters hair

Stimming by Tressa Ford

Run your hands through the thick, silken whole of it Once Twice Divide into three equal sections Right over middle, left over middle  Repeat Fold one strand in half Braid in end Braid in loop Pull remaining strands through  Divide into three Keep braiding Hold finished work pinched between your fingers  One breath Two breaths

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Person walking - Black and White

The Long Years by Tressa Ford

Wear a mask The air is poison Choke on the ashes of Californian dreams on the ghosts of Okanagan homes As sick yellow skies melt into stifling nights we wake from sweating nightmares with Lytton on our lips Wear a mask Your breath is poison Cross the street away from your neighbours to show you

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child

Nothing Below the Waist by KP Kaszubowski

toddlers with their faces blurred out or covered by cowboy hat will the mother keep this up until the kid is a man using the initial for his name a short story collection about L. # She’s crushed by the faucet.  The charring of the hand.  The flooring peeling up after run, run, run, running

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