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. When snow is falling it’s possible you’ll feel...
Arriving at the lakeshore one morning I came upon a poem Arriving at the lakeshore one morning I came upon a poem not of pristine sailboats cutting into precise horizons nor of the watercolour sunrise, nor even of the sound the water makes as it drags itself like...
Truth be told, sometimes she gets bored of the bowing down, all that blessing her with gentle hands. Come night she wants to wade through a mess of hips and eyes Truth be told, sometimes she gets bored of the bowing down, all that blessing her with gentle hands. Come...
yeah, I’d say he was surprised to see me, out of my loop, so to speak, so was he, my cousin Mel in a small-town hospital, playing patient, not doing a good job either, his big-boat Buick poised in the lot for getaway yeah, I’d say he was surprised to see me, out of my...
The 2nd place poetry winner of our 2005 contest, "Into Grains of Sand" by Zoya Harris of Vancouver, BC. I. Your dog sleeps on the back seat, a blanket spread below his dream-twitches like the blue night spreads across the open road. I can’t imagine you beside me, a...
The winner of our 2005 Poetry Contest. And see how the flesh grows back across a wound, with a great vehemence, more strong. —Jane Hirshfield I. She hovers by the filament lamp hard pellet in her abdomen and watches in the blackness his feet swallowed up in rough...
Under the knife blade, my mother’s broken hand in a sling, purple peel strips off over the face of the counter. Under the knife blade, my mother’s broken hand in a sling, purple peel strips off over the face of the counter. Her cheek, swollen, is marked by a bruise,...
He has eaten so much duck that he cannot talk to his wife the memory of the duck skin slips past his tongue to catch and clutch in his throat while a small bit of duck meat is stuck in the back molar of his closed mouth and the scent of Chinese spices and sweet fruit...
The winner of Room's 2002 poetry contest, judged by Joelene Heathcote. My friend wants to know what I think of when I panic. I pause in front of lit shop windows of long wrap-around scarves, beaded necklines and Indian silks. Absence, abandonment are the words but...
The second-place winner of our 2001 poetry contest. at Christmas I stare and stare at your daughters who look so eerily like you. your older girl seems all right, I know you’d be glad. she’s a regular kid, plays with ponies, laughs in shrieks. it’s only sometimes I...