poetry

 
 

FINDING WITHOUT LOOKING BY CAROL BARBOUR

A copy of Caravaggio’s Deposition
in the Chiesa Nuova
is too dark to see.

 

CUY BY ELANA WOLFF

Guinea-pig whole and splayed on the plate.                     
The room they put you down in
bright, table-banter light. 

 

TWO POEMS BY MALLORY TATER

This fear of death, it must be green. I see it
often, wrapped around her finger, a laurel film, 
translucent, kind of pretty, darkened in dishwater
on days she can’t be brave.

 

MICRO MACRO BY JACQUELINE VALENCIA

The fly on my windowsill
crawls towards a hot sunbeam
between the dried raindrops

 

CANADIAN NOVELIST: A RETROSPECTIVE BY CATRIONA WRIGHT

strands of hair
across her spines
only to come back
years later to find
the grey intact. 

 

TWO POEMS BY TANIS MACDONALD

It’s too late to rename NASA’s lunar program but never too late to wonder why it was called Apollo and not Diana
It’s too late to be the kind of boy who grows up to be an astronaut
It’s too late to be any kind of boy
                          (girls can be anything but first they should be quiet)

 

THE RECEIVER BY SHARON THESEN

How would we know they were happy?
we might ask.
A tan.

 

TWO POEMS BY SONIA DI PLACIDO

A row of cedars speak in tongues,
“Ah, what’s for dinner?
I am coming out of mourning”

 

KOOKEE BY JULIE MORRISSY

I really beat up on some cookie dough today
battered it with a wooden spoon
historically I find them hard to hold
the rough unfinished handle
feels like some crusty piece of felt that was left to rot