Numbers safety-pinned to matching blue tank tops, our last name, Fraser, emblazoned beneath them, my sister and I double-check that our shoes are laced tight. Attached to these laces are black chips. These chips will be used to establish our official marathon time,...
It was a day at the dead end of February that showed all variations of the colour grey: ashen branches stripped of leaves, cement-coloured clouds, steely frost, the opaque pane of ice under my feet, a window into the river translucent enough to suggest its gunmetal...
Spools of odd and even numbers knot tightly around my fingers. Fractions like hieroglyphs people the tethered pages of my grade school days. At the hub of our long-winded kitchen, turquoise table on a checkerboard floor. Mother slices red apples on a pine wood board:...
Congratulations to the winners of Room's 2011 Fiction, Poetry, and Creative Non-Fiction Contest!Our thanks to everyone who submitted their work, and to our wonderful judges: Amber Dawn (fiction), Elizabeth Bachinsky (poetry), and Susan Juby (creative non-fiction)....
this metropolis is hurly-burly— you’re striving with deadlines crosstown, half-drowned in long lists—consume that, buy this chase what’s brash and new— your strained schedule bursting with some added task always left to do while nearby, along cool paths sun sips...
Our water flows from an unnamed, underground spring. It flows downward from a point about a kilometre north-west of our home. Our water flows from an unnamed, underground spring. It flows downward from a point about a kilometre north-west of our home. We share the...
Today is one of those days of sloping light that you sometimes get when the hard edge of winter cuts into spring. Where the sun doesn’t just shine, but scuds across the fields in great golden planks. It is one of those days where mothers everywhere are nagging at...
It’s late May when James arrives in Rose-Marie, fresh from Antigonish, where he lives now. He shows up without fanfare. Without flourish. Without so much as a phone call to let me know he’s coming. He is simply, suddenly, standing before me in the grey light of a late...
Jack tilts back on his chair, balancing on two legs. A circle of smoke drifts up from a saucer beside him. “Need a big purple job,” he says. Kenny, your younger brother, slings a monster purple pill across the kitchen table. First Night Jack tilts back on his chair,...
The honourable mention in Room's 2010 poetry contest, judged by Jennica Harper. The first word took root quietly, self-sufficient oocyte into morula, split and grew new words, a semiosis in the dark liquid primordia of vowels. Punctuated by consonantal vertebrae: the...
ROOM 48.3 Rest/Unrest
In Room Magazine 48.3 Rest/Unrest, may you find rest as you engage with profound, necessary unrest.
ROOM 48.2 TRAVELLERS
In ROOM 48.2 TRAVELLERS we reflect, dream, manifest. Join us in these human ways of time-travelling, from infancy to the future, through relationships and into surreal realms.
Seeking members who love literature, events, merchandise, and supporting marginalized creators.
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