To celebrate the publication of issue 43.2 Devour, Room would like to share a poem from one of our issue contributors, Eli Tareq El Bechelany-Lynch. You can read "The Fatigue" in print, as well as two more of Eli's brilliant poems, by ordering the issue online. The...
“Dead spider frozen in ice are you dead.” is the honourable mention for Room’s Poetry Contest 2019 as selected by judge Pamela Mordecai. Dead spider frozen in ice are you dead. If I melt you will you wake up again and give us all polio. Is polio even that bad. You are...
/let it out/ they tear through my rawing throat, saliva & blood bubbling out /let it out/ they tear through my rawing throat, saliva & blood bubbling out wild prairie fire cacophony. /don’t ask why/ /let it out/ her hand presses deep into my chest, pinpointed...
In memoriam Tennyson said Nine years of things about his friend Who’d died. He brought him back by slow Degrees, from sunsets, wind in the trees, In memoriam Tennyson said Nine years of things about his friend Who’d died. He brought him back by slow Degrees, from...
We met at a birthday party. You were the only rum drinker in the room. On the couch, Al Purdy was going on about the stunted trees in the Arctic. We met at a birthday party. You were the only rum drinker in the room. On the couch, Al Purdy was going on about the...
M sent me a photograph by Daguerre. It is of the first human being to be photographed. M sent me a photograph by Daguerre. It is of the first human being to be photographed. Someone is cleaning the shoes of someone. All descriptions of the photograph claim that the...
He's a mean one, Mr. Troll I wonder what soured his soul enough to tell me I was not attractive enough to worry about being raped? He’s had a hard day at work gets off the elevator at his floor, rattles the key to his apartment door. Once inside, his briefcase slams...
A mother's hands stack clean needles, latex gloves. For our children, she says, for the lost ones. For the ones we've saved many times before, For the ones we hope to save just one time more. Why, neighbours ask while politicians gloat. Why chain the monster only to...
“And if you are not a bird, then beware of coming to rest above an abyss.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche Not an addict but a deflowered thorn, a queen of spades with a punch-hole. A birthday present unwrapped too quickly. Not a junkie but someone who’s put hope in the washer...
this is my third war* may 2009 if you can’t see me does it mean I don’t exist yes if you see me but you don’t see what makes me me does it mean you don’t see me yes if you cannot see that the thing that makes me me hurts burns ashes all over if you cannot see me shall...