There was a time when the world, as I came to understand it, held its breath. I took those years and bloomed into you. Like a pale rider, a searching cold reached through the city and drew away any powers of spinning old into new. Every flake of snow seemed to whisper You will never be still. I was...
The house had been yellow once. Óscar could see the places where the paint had peeled back entirely from the wooden siding, leaving splintered patches of grey in its wake. Its scabby state was of a piece with its other features: the missing shingles, the lawn blistered with weeds, the black door...
“Here are the ashes. / The days are beautiful.” —Ann Lauterbach All being said, the fathers of my wild hypothesis live near that dandelion clock fountain. All clean now: even the station beggars have PayID and the strip clubs close before the sushi train. On the second floor of an Art Deco...
Reviewed by Jeffrey Canton Lee Lai, Cannon (Drawn & Quarterly, 2025), 300 pp., $39.95. As a freelance reviewer and compulsive reader for nearly four decades, I can say honestly that Lee Lai’s Cannon is not only one of the best graphic novels I’ve read, but one of the best books, full stop. I’ve...
Interview by James K. Moran I do not position my writing as a literary landscape for readers to find themselves in. I don’t think artists should be hitched with the responsibility of being representational — Amber Dawn Multifarious queer Vancouver author Amber Dawn defies easy categorization. An...
I press my face to the bank. ….the mud smears my cheek with vowels. the water does not say my name, ….but it chews the syllables. stones shift like vertebrae, ….a spine grinding under weight. the current drags nails, hair, feathers— ….nothing it takes comes back intact. a...
