by John RC Potter Growing up in a small southwestern Ontario town, I was always aware that Toronto’s cultural and nightlife metropolis was a few hours’ drive to the east. It was a mecca that beckoned to me from an early age. It was physically not far away; however, metaphysically it seemed as distant from […]
Destination: Toronto @ Midnight Read More »
by Ashley W. Cundiff At four, my twin boys discovered the solar system and were quickly obsessed with planets. One claimed Jupiter as his own personal favorite (because of its size) the other, Saturn (because of its good looks). They drew planets constantly, checked all the planet books out from the library, watched planet videos,
Anything Can Happen Read More »
by Sam Hendrian I’ve already told this story through many poems. But sometimes poetry is a form of cowardice, a means of avoiding the vulnerability of the unembellished truth. And so it’s about time I summoned the courage to tell this bittersweet tale in raw prose, even if my omnipresent insecurities and projections are painted
by Taylor Scott I think constantly, agonize over my morals, debate if they’re moral enough, and if I’m smart enough to be great. I am most myself when my skin buzzes with anxious thoughtfulness, in both meanings of the word. I probably spent an entire year, in the grand scheme of my limited lifetime, analyzing
Generational Reflections Read More »
by Elizabeth Hallenberg Bea reminded herself that the pact was binding. Granny couldn’t say no. They signed their names at the bottom of a contract handwritten on parchment paper. Sixteen-year-old Bea insisted on burning the edges for authenticity. Sixty-three-year-old Granny indulged her, happy she wasn’t growing up too fast.They chose poetic words, but they did
by Travis Lee You attend the funeral in civilian clothes and sit in the back. The chaplain’s up front with the family in his dress blues and no one told you to come, you just decided to do it. You think showing up will absolve you of what happened, your responsibility which tickles your
by Rachel Uon encased in an old popcorn bucket: a notebook filled with the only artistic confessions I did not mold to please the public eye; in them, a naked truth I could not face and hate to uncover now. a clump of moss, protected from natural degradation only by my persistent belief in its
by Em Haas I met you—really met you—three years ago. We had been simple acquaintances before, just two passing, pleasant ships, but you took the place beside me once and then you were suddenly close to me always. I remember I thought it wondrous you even remembered my name, even though you had your head
tu es animae dimidium meae Read More »
by Gary Beck The minute they walked into the store I knew they were cops, but not locals. Some kind of state boys come up from Cheyenne by the look of them. I started for the bathroom to avoid them, but the meaner looking one, in a blue suit that looked like he found it
by Sarah Das Gupta The ugly red scar stretched from just below his left eye to the corner of his lips. It divided his face in half. Archie had to admit that it was almost a passport, a symbol of identity. There were certainly two sides to Archie Edgar Duncan, but you shouldn’t stop there.