I don’t mind you’ve put on a little actually I’m attracted to boys do we deserve a snack tonight? what you eat really isn’t that healthy we should exercise more I can police your food if you’d like you shouldn’t wear a shirt that...
Latest Stories
We’re Hiring a Book Reviews Editor!
This position has now been filled. Thank you for your interest! Plenitude Magazine is seeking a permanent, part-time book reviews editor! The candidate will work to oversee the regular online publication of book reviews from prominent and up-and-coming LGBTQ2s+ authors. Plenitude publishes one...
The Disappearing Game
I would like to make it known that I never languished around like some sort of woe-begotten damsel, desperately waiting for Ben to show up. In all the time we’d known each other, my life had been full. Too damn full, even. And while there’s no shame in having a quiet Saturday evening at home, even...
Dusk on the Hati Marege
Mother, then setting off— I see the world in which you inhabited sand breaching between land and seafoam you left clues, spinning sagas in my all too Canadian body of a place so delicious in warmth, the providence of natural resources prone to warships and the occasional genocide. Mother, on the...
The World as We Want It to Be: A Review of Marcus McCann’s Park Cruising
Reviewed by Brett Josef Grubisic Marcus McCann, Park Cruising: What Happens When We Wander Off the Path (House of Anansi, 2023), 352pp., $21.99. For the literal and figurative connotations alone, Marcus McCann chose a subtitle with broad appeal for Park Cruising, his book of eleven essays (and “In...
This is not a poem, it’s a meme
after “Dick from a Girl with Autism” I love autistic gay trans queens Us sensual sensory gals Euphoric smut and top-shelf memes From squishy a-spec pals High-stim, low-stim Not him, zmm zmm Tattoos, role play Bound by the High Fae Head pats for days and no more shame I hear you call my name I wanna...
Daughter of Corn
When she was eleven, Alex spent about a week out in the Missouri cornfields, crawling along the bottom of the stalks until she found a natural divot in the ground that was big enough for her lanky frame. There she burrowed down, surrounded by dirt and worms, and covered the top of the hole with the...
My Shore
My father told me he came from an island. A boat in the middle of the night took him and his brothers to the city. They would grow into men, become part of another land to tell stories from, be named in— no longer speaking ways of the water. When my father became a settler on the prairies, I came...
New Year’s Lament
I am writing you this letter from the bottom of the ocean where my eyelids are bottle caps and my stomach turns burnished copper. Maybe it is time for a new oral tradition. All day I flicker and sometimes I go out and leave in my wake the faintest trace of sweat and hibiscus. Maybe I am an embryo...