& the sea turns on itself, cracks the coveted
scales, bait & hook, leaves bones for the hungry
slides its rough back against home
& the sea turns on itself, cracks the coveted
scales, bait & hook, leaves bones for the hungry
slides its rough back against home
This piece is the third place winner for the 2021 Cover Art Contest, as judged by Chief Lady Bird. THIRD PLACE: It’s Complicated, by Laura Silva "El hombre es Dios cuando crea. Years ago an esteemed teacher told me this while discussing art. It translates to “humans...
This piece is the second place winner for the 2021 Cover Art Contest, as judged by Chief Lady Bird. SECOND PLACE: 莫(Mò), by Kyla Yin "莫(Mò) represents absence. Something that isn’t there or isn’t able to be done. I was first drawn to this idea when the Chinese...
The results are in. Major congrats to the three winners of our 2021 Cover Art Contest! FIRST PLACE: Nimisenh mizhishawabi, by Sarah McPherson Raised in Thunder Bay, Sarah McPherson is a 2S Anishinaabe youth from Couchiching First Nation, currently completing an MA at...
Julietta Singh’s The Breaks is at once a letter, a memoir, and a work of narration. In addressing her six-year-old daughter, Singh’s storytelling is, for the next generation, “a map of broken things, a recyclable archive that will spur you to fashion other ways of being alive, of living.”
In the respective epistolary novels The Color Purple and The Quintland Sisters, authors Alice Walker and Vancouver native Shelley Wood enlivened a genre that many literary scholars had dismissed as anachronistic. Both works probed the exploitation of girls within their families and in greater society.
Silmy Abdullah’s Home of the Floating Lily begins and ends with the idea of ‘home.’ The stories focus on characters wrestling with migration, containment, and forging new identities as ‘foreigners’ on Canadian soil.
We are an unlikely couple. Me, twenty-three and adrift. The House, so planted in the earth, its walls sagging from decades of rain. When I move in, I worry I’ll find ghosts: not only the spirits of my ngin-ngin and yeh-yeh, but the spectres of other things lost to time.
Drawing on Filipino horror and mythology, Estacion turns to monsters, ghosts, and beasts to navigate her personal pain and grief. Mirroring the loss of her own reproductive organs, she weaves in supernatural imagery of The White Lady, who weeps over the “dead uterus lying sadly on a / pillow looking very much like / the burnt pork belly at breakfast no one wants to touch.”
In the six-page preface, Principe takes great care to write that her book is not: an apology for suicide, a comprehensive review of suicide, a history of suicide, an argument for or against suicide, judgment, or a response to suicide that is without love.