Fat flies line the bait box, brush and cling
like scraps of cellophane, ragged magnets
Poetry
The man who loves you
is nothing but a ghost.
He walks through walls,
his name on your mouth like prayer.
The poem I am not going to write excuses herself
daily, needs to wash her hair, roust the dust bunnies
from under the bed, empty the worn-out clothes
that malinger in her closet.
I thought we were dead
when Dave spread his maps
across the wheel and took off
his glasses to consult them while his semi
careened unchecked down the interstate.
The honourable mention in Room's 2011 poetry contest, judged by Elizabeth Bachinsky.
Show them which goal is theirs
and which goal
they’re supposed to score in
subsumed: 1 + 1 = 1
she had no socks
so she wore his
that left him short of socks
so she bought him more
The honourable mention in our 2009 poetry contest, judged by Sachiko Murakami.
Teresa lifted a stone from the beach
and it spoke to her
saying: “I am God.”
He was a man unconvinced by pancakes.
He said that as she licked the syrup off her fingertips,
Funny, it happened all the time, though she never touched
When snow is falling it’s possible
you’ll feel listless. Snow, after all,
smothers everything, street signs, garden
lanterns, the sad hump of the dog buried in the yard
three years ago, what you can and cannot see.
Pages
Currently on Newsstands
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Room 41.3, Queer
Edited by Leah GolobIn 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
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