the maternal urge to lick your scalp and bite your fingers every day, firsts and lasts My heart, spilling through the holes in my chest...

Part I I am greedy, some others say. My jealousy for the nine lives of the stray cat amuses them. Apparently, it shouldn’t be that hard...

To the brown curly-haired librarian, with the “she/they” pronoun pin Who works so diligently at my university’s library  Did you notice...

I came in through the side door sparrow singing in a spruce tree blue ground frozen dog shit and chain I came in to wool needles clicking...

on days playing from dawn to dusk, on long sidewalks observing the sun descend and our shadows elongate. banana slugs radiantly a lit...

I stand on a beach in Bulgaria facing east My line of sight travels a hawk’s path ending up in Georgia roosting in the mountains of...

slice feels like one of those words  whose sound matches its description I see this for the first time when I slice  the soft flesh on...

Details and photos from our launch party at Cafe Rond-Point in February 2025

Our individual uniqueness is what separates us from all others Our shared humanity is what unites us with all others Our lives are...

when we were small, the house next door set ablaze and choked the evening air—we sat on the street and watched the flames lick along...

I bought a bagel  and a banana at the  train station on my  way to work. As I  walked on the platform the banana fell out of  my pocket....

there are only so many ways you can lay positions to sprawl places for legs to go back, side side, front  the body knows them well and it...

Now Time is precious and limited.  After a full day of college courses and working part-time at the town sandwich shop, Reyna was finally...

An Analysis of the Book by Torrin A. Greathouse, by Concordia Uniervsity student Sophie Dufresne

Part 1                                         I draw a full swirl                   of intestines tucked in bed      on my shower door...

The night my son was born I had a dream and in that dream I stole a motorcycle, it  was black and the chassis was made of  painted bones.

I could be funny and clever Blue in the face, producing love letters Scratch out words, tear out pages

He wore a  perfectly practiced  nonchalance. Democratic — self-proclaimed. I took his brooding  as thoughtfulness, his theatrics as...

This poem is from a collection of poems that explores the themes of the ever-changing cinematographic landscape from across North America.

Tania began heading back the old familiar road, but then she glanced back at the church as her final glimpse of hope. Maybe someone there...