Salim Gold once of Lebanon, now of Montreal, is not quit of Beirut, although Canada is a settlement. His carpet trade keeps him neither here nor there.

À Istanbul (IV)

Salim Gold

The muezzin, awake to God, awakes us,
Crying; his words splinter inside our ears,
While daylight sparks upon the splintered sea.
Look! The Bosphorus shines like bone. Next, blue dusk
Boils among black palms and gold minarets.
Then, night—fat with stars—shelters an Eden
Of exchange: Flood our mouths with wine and kisses;
That welling fanaticism is Want.

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Sybill

Bert Bailey

"All of Toronto seemed to have shown up for that awful production!" Phil complained.

"It wasn't so dreadful, was it?" someone asked.

Sybill's eyes lit up, and she almost rose out of her seat to add:

"Yes, and didn't Millie say she saw Christopher Plummer in the lobby?" Everyone turned to her end of the table. This was the first thing she had said since the three couples had arrived from a nearby theatre.

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Aftermath

Lisa Twadowska

Him: Dirty gypsy. [He spits.]
Kora: This is my spot. Get lost.
Him: I’m not going anywhere
Kora: Find your own spot. [Beat. He stands there. She glowers at him]
Him: Cat got your tongue, dirty gypsy.
Kora: I’m not dirty.

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When an artist explains what he is doing he usually has to do one of two things: either scrap what he has explained, or make his subsequent work fit in with the explanation.

- Alexander Calder

Bluebell
- Vanessa Paschakarnis

Volunteers for Issue 9

For copy-editing this issue of MTLS thanks:

- Lequanne Collins-Bacchus

- Amanda Tripp

- Claudia Del Balso

Acknowledgement

MTLS is grateful to Jetioluwa Olafimihan (Cotta Red Creative Studio) for her hard work on web development and management.

Dedication

To the memory of Stephen Potts