Poetry

Strip the skin off my body and hold
me tight. Take this ugly brown shell, burn
scar, thrown to sea. Let waves batter
me against rocks, shark teeth ravage carcass,
oil spill on pale water.

we sit
the two of us
you face the tv

your lips they twist
perceptions in an instant.

Our 2017 Poetry Contest Honourable Mention.

She built a tower for herself. What a waste
of sand, they all thought, and to not lower
her hair down—who waits, in a desert, to be overcome

—not part of me. She makes up games
like Quidditch and plays with me.
Body throws me down

If our gratitude dries parched, we think nothing of        water

If our tongues shrink, we  think of nothing       but water

nothing of water; foresight        shortened

dry, memory of                           these -dry -days

Abattoirs, Abortuaries, and America (HOO-RAH)

Bleach and Beer-Batters, Batman!

Camaro . . . Catchphrases . . . Catachresis . . .

Donkey-sauce; Donkey-sauce; Donkey-sauce

Our 2017 Short Forms Contest Honourable Mention.

Every night, you sleep on my neck.
Contentment seeps through our chakras.

Low dirt path parts Loch Awe as a helix unbinding.
We walk like thistled mutants to Kilchurn ruins.

. . . I found a pair of velvet-coated antlers,
three fingers reaching from an open palm
still throbbing with platelet’s hot breath

Hold a winesap apple to your brow and think of the worst possible outcome.
Or has the worst already happened? How do you define cataclysm?

Are you dead yet?
We're writing letters to our future selves
wanting to know if we can outlive men with beautiful hands.

black pearls on a string
when young lustrous
men dazzle yet frighten us
for many our first encounters a plundering

The tongue is lost—now blood pools
in her mouth. Her maid stops the wound
with a tampon, split down the middle
like some carpenter’s unlucky thumb.

I’ve heard
we only remember
the bad things
that happen to us

This is the part of the story about my first time getting wasted that most don’t hear

A trace of her hair tucked away, his skin
beneath her nails. Each square reminded him
of hopscotch. Her head like a tetherball. What kind

Okay, or
entitled little shits

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  • Queer Issue
    Room 41.3, Queer
    Edited by Leah Golob

    In this issue:

    Adèle Barclay, Joelle Barron, Nicole Breit, Mary Chen, Lucas Crawford, Jen Currin, Pamela Dodds, Jane Eaton Hamilton, Jess Goldman, hannah harris-sutro, Leah Horlick, Sam Jowett, Ness Lee, Annick MacAskill, Alessandra Naccarato, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha, Marika Prokosh, Amal Rana, Siobhan Roca Payne, Leah Sandals, Hana Shafi, Arielle Spence, Samantha Sternberg, Sanchari Sur, K.B. Thors, Corey Turner, Jackie Wykes

    .