Metaphor

urban NDNs in the DTES

had a dozen foster parents

                                   tell me to run from my mother’s truth

                                   the track marks up her arm,

                                   shy away from the streets

                                                                           they said ate her alive.

 

...

jaye simpson

CONVERSION

sam says you can’t name your book good boys without a dog

but sam doesn’t know that i am the dog

i am the ultimate mutt and i am telling him this story

at the bar called college hill tavern which looks like a front

for some operation where all the bar stools appear as if

they were staged in under ten minutes and

the girl with the...

Megan Fernandes

The Ayes Have It

When I think of Trayvon Martin, I think of Emmett Till,

             when I think of Emmett Till, I think of young, black men in the South,

 

then I think of young, white men in the South.

              I think of my husband, who is white, born and raised in Franklin, TN.

 

I think of how when he tries to hold my hand,

...

Tiana Clark

I saw a perfect tree today

I saw a perfect tree today

From my cabin bed on a Via Rail train 

Through the North of Ontario

I saw a perfect tree today

It was tall and thin and scraggly and prim

Then I saw another just as perfect

Short and sturdy with branches and brambles 

And then another with a rugged fat trunk

Older than the rest, but just as...

Lillian Allen

Paying Attention

He is not doing well. She is not

“Doing well....

Noelle Kocot

PACKING FOR THE FUTURE: INSTRUCTIONS

Take the thickest socks.

Wherever you're going

you'll have to walk.

 

There may be water.

There may be stones.

There may be high places

you cannot go without

the hope socks bring you,

the way they hold you

to the earth.

 

At least one pair must be new,

must be blue as a wish...

Lorna Crozier
b. 1948

Men in the Gut

Scrape the inside of sleep the belly wall

tasting like yoghurt cooked broccoli

its emptiness leaving something

on the tongue. Escaping the body

that wants to quit from the inside.

It unlaces you all the tethers sliced

away. When I dream of this body ending

of opening the germ of the pain

I am on the side of the road. My...

Jason Purcell

Brother

Your wedding day was a hurricane; your bride in red was like a kiss on

on the dry prairie dirt. You actually never told me the story of how it went.

The wedding, I mean. In fact, you never told me about how you chose

a DJ, or if the flowers glistened in the sunlight. I don't think you've ever

told me about the places you would love to see, either, or the...

Arielle Twist
1994 -

HOW NOT TO SPILL

Dad has creases on his hands so thick they could split with a

poke. He gestures for me to try so I do. His skin bends on a

hinge and out spills every good and bad thing: cattails from our

driveway in Peace River, oil underground, rocks too smooth to

be useful. It washes out the floor so I watch and wade in.

 

Mom would never spill her...

Jessica Johns

19

I triage the landscape. The prairies

are numb today and so am I.

I am too thin. Built

like I won't explode on hot

afternoons, a mirror

to the sky. My body is a hurt

where tall grasses grow, where

clouds pass, where rain sinks. It

aches where I touch

the ground. The prairies are split

into farmland...

Brandi Bird

AMERICA (I'M PUTTING MY QUEER SHOULDER TO THE WHEEL)

The night America took off her mask

we slept together poorly. I'd woken up early

that Tuesday, dragged myself to a gymnasium

in Jersey City to cast my vote into the void.

I came all the way out to Hampton Bays

to see her: her picking me up in that old

Mercury van, her bringing us back to her place.

As we watched the footage of...

John Elizabeth Stintzi

When I Become You

I'd like to close the distance between us:

where you end, where I begin,

 

but your skin stops me,

I can't find my way in.

 

If I could, I'd press every bit of me

against you

until I've slipped inside,

your skin, our tent.

 

I want to breathe through your mouth.

If I could just slip...

Teva Harrison
1976

From The First Water is the Body

2345*.

The river is my sister—I am its daughter.

It is my hands when I drink from it,

my own eye when I am weeping,

and my desire when I ache like a yucca bell

in the night. The river says, Open your mouth to me,

and I will make you more.

 

Because even a river can be lonely,

            ...

Natalie Diaz

New Year's

If you want to travel run

around the neighbourhood with an empty

suitcase in hand. At least once, full circle.

Wear yellow underwear

for the 31st, lest fortune oversee your cup

as she pours. Yes, thank you. I too wish you excitement

& wealth in the New Year.

Mostly, I hope you get

through tomorrow, and then the day...

Nicole Lachat

On My Tongue

Bismillah is my first memory.

 

I became a bird in the Qur’an

at hardly eight years old.

 

I opened the dark green cover

and revealed the slippery

 

two hearts: Arabic

and its English translation.

 

On Saturdays, I learned to repeat

passages in Arabic,

 

to...

Alycia Pirmohamed

voyage, oh voyage!

voyage, oh voyage!

the final fire that ravages the air

unveils the soil on which

we walk aimlessly

and tirelessly

 

the hypocrisy of the strong protects us

from home. I prefer leaves

yellowed by the rain to false

victories

 

so I listen to the wind. It's good to live

where there's...

Etel Adnan
1925-

FROM THE WINDOW OF MY HOME-TOWN HOTEL

On the lee slope of the small coastal mountain

which conceals the sun the first hour after its rising,

in the dry, steep ravines, the live

mist of the heat is seething like dust

left over from an earlier world.

A crow with a swimmer's shoulders works

the air. And a little bird flies up into a

tree and closes its wings, like a...

Sharon Olds
1942 -

Veronica?

What's it like at the centre of the AGO?

Hmm. Imagine being coloured, drawn, and placed

 

in a wooden frame, another hung woman, positioned

just so in the middle of a landscape surrounded by rocks,

 

lakes, mountains, and trees, MacDonald to your right,

Carmichael to your left.  Imagine being forced to look,

 ...

Chantal Gibson

susiya