In the copy room, the machines drowned Anna out. The whirs of the photocopiers bounced between the concrete walls, their humming somehow as harsh as the fluorescent lights, halting any conversation that might begin even if just between one part of the mind and another. Professor Anderson walked in...
S.A. Leger is a writer and ornithologist from Newfoundland, Canada. Her poems have recently appeared in or are forthcoming from The Hopkins Review, SWWIM, The Los Angeles Review, Conduit, and The Malahat Review. She spends her days exploring the 47th parallel with her wife and dachshund.
Reviewed by Paul Leonard Makram Ayache (Arabic translation by Hiba Sleiman), The Green Line (Playwrights Canada Press, 2024), 176 pp., $19.95. Caleigh Crow, There is Violence and There is Righteous Violence and There is Death, Or The Born-Again Crow (Playwrights Canada Press, 2023), 104 pp., $18.95...
i was a [servant-god] made for [you-me]— just more [water-fire] to pour down a throat, just another bushburn [sinking-rising] [down-up] the building’s spine,……back to mirror, a [child-adult] sleeping until 12 [pm-am]……woke till the lightest dark……until until until i could the...
Kevin decided to run for office. He said: Well, I guess it’s time for me to dust off my copy of Atlas Shrugged. You know, said Beta, who once had been his girlfriend but now was not, there are other books about politics that you could read. But Kevin did not want to read other books about politics...
Everything hurts. I engage muscles that have been single for so long they have cobwebs. For days, my hip twinges, my neck side-eyes me. I roll my shoulders in an attempt to calm them of their hysterics. I must say that not all fat bodies are out of shape, but this one is. And we’ve only learned 30...
Reviewed by Lisa Timpf Jes Battis, I Hate Parties (Nightwood Editions, 2024), 96 pp., $19.95. When I saw the title of Jes Battis’ poetry collection I Hate Parties, I knew this was a book I had to read. I Hate Parties is described in Nightwood Editions’ promotional materials as a collection that...
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...
