Poetry

In the backseat of a mustang you looked so much
like a movie. The sleeves of your shirt cut off
and gas station glasses. Open beer and the wind
forgiving nothing. I was almost myself, watching
road signs disappear and leaning from the window,
dress billowing. Three cows and a horse, the car

Where are the words I devoured
The English hoard I treasured
inside this body soon to be

who secretly thrilled to Ursula
who shared her envy
of that underwater voice
and wanted nothing more

Not whole, the way we know them now, but fragmentary
hollow skeletals that seal the human or reveal
what it once was. Breath stolen by volcanic gas
and corpses dressed in ashes. An imprint of dust
upon the body, or the body onto dust. Excavators filled
the distance between bone and absent skin with plaster,
made flesh-form evident: a naked relic for collection and display.

Our 2015 Poetry Contest Honourable Mention, judged by Jen Currin.

By all the gods I don’t know why the hell
I come to these things passed defences
farewell parties publications showers house-
swarmings

The pages you have yet to write are flagged and fluorescent, post-it pennants waving for another town’s fiesta.

they might have noticed
the bear
whose movement
down the hallway
resembled a private waltz

Palm trees flash past
barred windows, and words
waft over the train’s
noisy pulse.

uluka
my Sanskrit owl
vahana, vehicle of Laksmi
sharing the name with
a muni, sage

The honourable mention of our 2014 poetry contest, judged by Sonnet L’Abbé.

Alia and Natty smoke real cigarettes. They light up, breathe in smoke oh-so smooth and breathe out like old-fashioned pros.

Hey, you!
Respect the metropolis
with all of its swagger,

Frozen diesel mud is
shinier than you’d think
chest high wild rose plates
tuck into a new truck that says
warm fresh tough clean
your favorite expensive underwear

My mom loves us, loves to
make us beautiful,
make my sister and me
into one girl—
a pageant of Persia.

My husband wants to know why the line is always broken.

We polish our big bellies with creams,
          we henna Eden vines on them,

I hide my power in a cloak I hoard as anger.
My jaw gears like a charging bull;
hairs horn from my butting forehead.

Room would like to apologize to Yoko's Dogs for the formatting errors made in "Yellow" in issue 36.2.

The wind rolls down the street a rogue
wave and breaks in the maples above. Great swells
crest in the uppermost branches and it is alone a wonder how
the little birds are not
shaken loose from their limbs.

Pages

Currently on Newsstands

  • Room 41.4, Emergence
    Edited by Alissa McArthur

    In this issue:

    Tharuna Abbu, Farah Ali, Kristin Bjornerud, Michelle Chen, Nomi Chi, Morgan Christie, Kim Fu, Hannah Graff, nancy viva davis halifax, Ceilidh Isadore, Liz Kellebrew, Jo Lee, Kris Ly, Melanie Mah, Sara Mang, Katie McGarry, Estlin McPhee, Triin Paja, Loghan Paylor, Nagmeh Phelan, Oubah Osman, Lisa Rawn, Yvonne Robertson, Erika Thorkelson, Cara Waterfall

    .