Mark your Calendar
Live Like a Poet by Bre Harwood
The Poorest Postal Code in Canada by Meredith Joy Macdonald
The Growl and the Hungry Decree by Cassady Cain
Birdhouse by Cassady Cain
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writing

Muddy tire tracks leading into a stoned in fence area
Fiction

Alba by Elizabeth Whitehouse

It wasn’t the shag carpets or the original stove that dripped black grease onto the linoleum. Nor was it the fifty-year-old sliding windows that housed leggy spiders creating webs between the panes and those giant furry black houseflies that hatched out of the walls every spring. It was the view!

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mother braiding daughters hair
Poetry

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

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Person walking - Black and White
Poetry

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

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child
Poetry

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

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girl with a bird cage
Poetry

Very Few Things are Truly Free by KP Kaszubowski

when you’re waiting for your check to go through – come on over to my house I have a prayer – I am working with a stutter come over, take an echo bath:  share with me come over – make it undone make it lush – make it future make

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candle
Poetry

Dusty Strings by C.G. Dahlin

It’s quiet.  The hollow shake of a thermos.  Air resting, suspended, lukewarm.  My skull is full of mothballs.  My limbs, stone.  My glands  secreting  in secret.   Whisky dribbling.  Sink half full of muck.  She’s thinking of me,  I can feel it in a pit  knotting in my gut.  She’s wearing white  and she hates it. 

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basement
Poetry

Pupils like Myrrh by C.G. Dahlin

Pluming smoke,   pupils like myrrh,  lavender eyes, sage skin, grenache lips,  a tongue of tannin with a gravel finish.  The record spins, the needle placed, it’s just now catching.   I’m laying on a beige carpet, bonded to it like velcro,  staring at the eggshell white, popcorn ceiling.  My body’s become a cauldron of amorphous fumes,  the

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old woman
Poetry

Crone by C.G. Dahlin

She came to me in the end of night  wearing the stems and leaves of a sword fern,  adorned in cockle shells, her hair sprinkling black sands,  her eyes like moons, her hands swaying and caressing   like the rolling mounds past dry gulch.  She came to me after as the birds started

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darkness
Poetry

Dark by Oshi Spring

The night is dark So dark you could catch the darkness in a bowl or catch water in a bowl at the bottom of an ocean The machine roars, a lonely rumble It cuts through the dark Disturbing the peace Here I am, controlling this metal beast My headlights barely

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about

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!

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