Three Poems

BY Cheryl White

Sure, it takes all kinds.
Beautiful day, isn’t it?
At least you don’t have to shovel rain.
You want another Black Horse?

The Garbage Poems and the Transformative Joy of Pond Swimming

BY Eva Crocker

The Garbage Poems is a multi-disciplinary project that brings together found poetry by Anna Swanson, watercolour painting and illustration by April White, and interactive web-design by Matthew Hollett to explore…

Bingo

BY Maggie Burton

Girls night out, we’ve been here for days trying to win at Bingo. The fog so thick on the smoking side of the hall we swim in it: we’re swans…

Three poems

BY Molly Clarke

Uncle                                                                                                                   My uncle slumps against the doorframe, his cigarette a sixth finger. He is a night of amber whiskey and…

Inis Oírr iii

BY Heather Nolan

when the ferry gets in island folks line up along the dock offering tours in the family car faces eroded by the rain. horses wait hitched to carriages. every hour…

Memory

BY Florence Button

    Shining dully from the coffers of the soul Leaning hard against the heart. Mute testimony. Memories from the moulds of yesterday. A silent, siren call Glimpses of sacred…

the harbour mourns fencelessness

BY Allie Duff

how good to be swallowed up to be let in or let out blue expanse spreads the narrows a maw stretching ship-wide the fence stands to guard the ocean from…

Letter to Joey Smallwood

BY Shannon Webb-Campbell

Dear Joey: I’m still here and mixed

Mi’kmaq after all these years
You’re long dead, yet

Confederation couldn’t stop

Newfoundland’s ongoing

colonial violence.

You continued so unapologetically,

telling Ottawa there are no red Indians–