The honourable mention of our 2014 poetry contest, judged by Sonnet L’Abbé. Wet light hints at the tin roofs of Dawson City squats, the barn-like red wood exterior of the Downtown Hotel. The sky says dawn but my watch says 3. I am coming home from the The Midnight Sun...
Alia and Natty smoke real cigarettes. They light up, breathe in smoke oh-so smooth and breathe out like old-fashioned pros. i. Alia and Natty smoke real cigarettes. They light up, breathe in smoke oh-so smooth and breathe out like old-fashioned pros. I wanna try....
Hey, you! Respect the metropolis with all of its swagger, Hey, you! Respect the metropolis with all of its swagger, those who circumvent swinging glass doors, who enter with seraphic magic, who float the economy. A swerve, an offshoot in a dawdling line makes shoppers...
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 Frozen diesel mud is shinier than you’d think chest high wild rose plates tuck into a new truck that says...
My mom loves us, loves to make us beautiful, make my sister and me into one girl— a pageant of Persia. “Murder me if this is all it takes to make me beautiful” —Iranian proverb, only used by women My mom loves us, loves to make us beautiful, make my sister and me into...
My husband wants to know why the line is always broken. I say the poem is made of words, but the words are not the poem. The words are the way in. The broken lines are openings. I remember how his skin turned gold under a streetlight the first time he took off his...
We polish our big bellies with creams, we henna Eden vines on them, we Buddha rub them, as do strangers, for wealth. In birth class they tell us your body was made for this. They tell us your mothers were strapped down and drugged. We are capable of doing so...
I hide my power in a cloak I hoard as anger. My jaw gears like a charging bull; hairs horn from my butting forehead. “sky. There is no edge from which to hang my plumb-line. No ledge on which to lay my spirit-level. And you are outside piling logs, working on your own...
Room would like to apologize to Yoko's Dogs for the formatting errors made in "Yellow" in issue 36.2. Room would like to apologize to Yoko's Dogs for the formatting errors made in "Yellow" in issue 36.2. Yellow I her cardinals return from the west printed on napkins...
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. The wind rolls down the street a rogue wave and breaks in the...
ROOM 48.1 WITS END
In times of crisis, we laugh to offer tenderness, to ward off despair— so we can be brave. Gather round ROOM 48.1 WITS END and let humour be a mirror held up to the state of the world as we continue to resist.
ROOM 47.4 FULL CIRCLE
Step back with Room into the past, to parents, to childhood homes, and to people once known and loved; dig into themes of grief and healing; and ultimately explore what it means to come full circle in literature.
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Wits End | 48.1
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Full Circle | 47.4
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Bodies | 47.3
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Seedpod | 47.2
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Utopia | 47.1
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Fever Dream | 46.4
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