Mistletoe ornaments a branch. the forever green of it, eaten out of season. here, birds wipe their beaks against pink sky, & the language adheres to trees. the sprigs flourish in their raging shoots. at a whim, I tapeline myself to a baobab trunk— reaching for the roundness of grapes to busy my...
Double denim, doubled down and soaked through. 17 bus line, headlights cleaving Canadian five pm. You are scratchy and wet. Stage left, glinting gold, the girl is muttering to herself. Turning a crucifix between her fingers, burnishing bronze under the motion. She is one of those ages you might...
When proto-lemurs were caught up in the graceless process of evolving into bats— when small trees bent under their oversized talons, & heavy bones— when their wings spanned almost enough length to catch wind currents, but not quite— they did not know they were a transitional species. Only knew...
Yolande House is a bisexual writer whose work has been supported by the OAC and the Canada Council, and published in literary magazines like The Rumpus, Joyland, and The Fiddlehead. A graduate of Sage Hill, she is currently querying a memoir-in-pieces about being hard of hearing...
Reviewed by Anne Perdue Zoe Whittall, Wild Failure (HarperCollins Canada, 2024), 176 pp., $18.00. Through three books of poetry and six novels, Zoe Whittall’s been a wry, fearless chronicler of urban contemporary times, often through the lens of queer culture. In May, Whittall published her tenth...
The Jungian analyzes my bladed braids and lipsticked lips. What are you trying to prove? He asks as I kill our molly fish and sleep at the morgue as punishment. Disembodied sheets of centrifugal steel, I skate onto your onanism. From the bathtub I watch as holy rollers go catatonic on the lawn...
