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Natalya Bartling
The Poems of Apricity
December is my favourite month of the year. Every time I go outside to breathe in the fresh winter air and wander around the city, I reflect on the time when I was a child. … Read the whole text
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Ewa Mazierska
Permanent Residents
Ilona and Keith fell in love with the house at first sight. Truth be told, it didn’t have the amenities Keith was looking for, namely, an outside shed to put his bikes in and another one … Read the whole text
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Johanna Van Zanten
My Conversion to becoming a Writer
At eight I was a devout little girl that swallowed hook-line-and-sinker what I was taught in my parents’ small congregation of ultra-Christians. By age 12 I had lost all belief in fairy tales including … Read the whole text
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Uchechukwu Peter Umezurike
Bat
I’m in the kitchen scrubbing the insides of a kettle when I hear Pa say, Bia nwoke. I dash into the parlour while Ma goes on humming over the pot of egusi soup she is preparing. Each time … Read the whole text
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Benjamin Bandosz
Toronto HauntingYou really don’t know if you’re being haunted until you stare a ghost straight in the face. Everything becomes pretty clear at that point. Beforehand, it’s just a series of weird coincidences, shadows stalking you while you … Read the whole text
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Lily Iona MacKenzie
My Home and Native Plant
I’m not your garden variety Canadian. I don’t own a Hudson’s Bay blanket. I no longer attend hockey games. I’ve stopped being overly nice and polite. And I gave up my citizenship when I … Read the whole text
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Halima Aliyu
Broken
I cannot remember when we stopped touching each other. It began when mother left with a gash on her head. And older sister could not wear mother’s shoes. Laughter ran away from our mouths and the smell of cocoa … Read the whole text
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Don McLellan
Black Market
They kicked in my door at three in the morning, four goons wearing camouflage overalls and balaclavas. I was flattered such a force was thought necessary to subdue me, but I would have complied had they called … Read the whole text
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Richard Risemberg
The River
He stood in the rain, looking back along a quaintly curving street of houses half-hidden by trees and vines. He’d grabbed a raincoat and a hat before going outside, but rain dripped from the hem of his … Read the whole text
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Habib Mohana
Stamping The Dead
It was an unwritten law of the land that no dead person was to be buried until his left buttock was properly stamped with the royal seal by the officials in the capital. Those who buried … Read the whole text