Issue 11.4 – Poetry

            For Papa and Neve   My wife’s instructions upon moving out: Put the old dog down, Chip. I haven’t.   Today I shoveled snow, Neve followed, decorating my path with piles of shit. I did the math, she’s over seventy: my age.   She’s been the meanest dog we’ve had, only nice to the…

Issue 11.3 – Poetry

Your face has that kindness foreign to me.   Your ease in transit on a Tuesday holiday-eve   radiates ‘family’   like your soft voice does, and your worn brown boots.   The voice in your ear, I gather, agreed readily to pick you up at Don Mills   and as we neared blackness you…

Issue 11.2 – Poetry

I love when we get together and share a bottle of wine, or a carafe of sangria. I love when you ask if I’m staying for dinner. I love when you go out of your way to ask how I’m doing and if I need a lunch date because the answer is almost always yes….

Issue 11.1 – Poetry

I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation tonight, about what we talked about when we talked about death, about how the mortuary as I always knew it is gone now, moved down the street to the old car dealership where I was propositioned by a man three times my age when I asked him…

Issue 10.4 – Poetry

Because that summer my arms finally grew long enough, my grandmother showed me how to brace myself for the shot.  With the butt end pressed against me, I stretched my fingers to the trigger, positioned my target in the valley of the site. I stared down the gun barrel at an Orange Crush can propped…

Issue 10.3 – Poetry

Yesterday morning I saw a woman Behind the walls and the shining armour I saw a woman behind the costume Of superwoman behind the Uniform of the captain who has it all under control who has it all figured out Yesterday morning I saw a woman.   Yesterday morning I saw a woman And I…

Issue 10.2 – Poetry

My mother decided to take my fathers’ Appointment, at the holistic doctors office   Five days after he died. It was hard to get In to see him- months even, and my   Fathers’ disease still hung around the air Like we could catch it, and without life   Insurance until the 30th She was…

Issue 10.1 – Poetry

The moon Wears her craters like you Wear your stretch marks. Like war paint As though asteroids and debris isn’t constantly crashing Into her skin As if on most days, even when she is whole She is only seen as a fraction Hanging in blackness As if her dark side isn’t easy to forget  …

Issue 9.4 – Poetry

I was sixteen, working late at Hested’s department store pressing clothes on their hangers with hot mist from an ancient machine. You had to be careful not to burn yourself.   The boss asked if I wanted to get a bite to eat, and then he’d drive me home. He was our neighbor, my mom…

Issue 9.3 – Poetry

  Lasted 45 seconds before I shut the video off. It was her scream rattling my ears, the sight of Denise Collins’ right arm in the police K-9’s jaw.   Tried to watch it a second time, sound muted. Clicked pause after five seconds of her mouth, her eyes opened wide, twisted in terror. Took…