Like Noise of the Pouring River

Like   noise   of the   pouring   river the mind  lets  go,   throws  spray like   water’s   pulse   and hurl. What’s   true   for    the    waterfall is true  for  the water  before  its fall, at the brink recalls and recoils,  spins  and  rolls  forward into  that  fall.   It  never  runs  out, never   loses   the weight of  its being,  the […]

Then and Now

Forty-eight and finally, I learn how to start living if that’s what it’s called. I mean, spring clean, bras cup-side up in the drawer, Japanese fantail dress detail, only some excess, and five-inch Louis Vuitton ‘Kimono’ heels. Coffee at an East Village bodega on Christmas day. December sun on walk-ups While we sat in that […]

By Nyla Matuk • "Then and Now" is taken from the book Stranger, published by Signal Editions • Read our review • Posted Filed in Poem of the Month

Untitled (“We eat strawberries”)

We eat strawberries and snort Adderall Alek hands me some sort of craft beer and I think bad thoughts about America again I peel the label off and curse it It seems like a half-hearted attempt to be a Good Guy, a Myth. I practice Lying with men It’s easy, it’s all they want to […]

By Sara Sutterlin • "Untitled (“We eat strawberries”)" is taken from the book I Wanted to Be the Knife, published by Metatron • Read our review • Posted Filed in Poem of the Month

Untitled (“I will present a huge fire”)

I will present a huge fire I will burn the residential schools the paper acts And with a single gust of wind brush away every pipeline the caribou will come running with the buffalo the horses the deer there will be a great trembling The caribou the buffalo the horses the deer will come with […]

By Natasha Kanapé Fontaine • "Untitled (“I will present a huge fire”)" is taken from the book Assi Manifesto, published by Mawenzi House • Read our review • Posted Filed in Poem of the Month

A Grip on the Stars

I arrive wrapped in typhoon, blue grey wet blanket airless and unsettled. Strips of wallpaper curl an inch a day. I am adhesive diluted, unable to dry. When I packed, I found lost letters behind my bed, books I never knew I owned. Leaving is a process of remembering, a realization that to stay is […]

By Gillian Sze and Alison Strumberger • "A Grip on the Stars" is taken from the book Redrafting Winter, published by BuschekBooks • Read our review • Posted Filed in Poem of the Month

Hold Tight, Let Go

That was my verdict, six weeks before the shades. January had burst December open. I said let go, stockstill and concocting questions. Reminding myself a man’s heart can’t be bared with just one hand. Scinded, our words repeat. I heard hold tight, let go, standing like a man pitched forward. Weight on one leg. Killing […]

By François Turcot • "Hold Tight, Let Go" is taken from the book My Dinosaur, published by BookThug • Read our review • Posted Filed in Poem of the Month

Centre: Eochaill

Rise with the centre of the island, its thorny-backed middle. Climb, upwards from the main road, follow the steep incline of a goat path. Here, the land pillaged and pocked by hoof- prints, shudder and thunder of goat heels driven to ground. Follow the sound through the drone and wheel of crickets: summer is gone, […]

By Kelly Norah Drukker • "Centre: Eochaill" is taken from the book Small Fires, published by McGill-Queen’s University Press • Read our review • Posted Filed in Poem of the Month 1 Comment

Hermit Crab

Regardless of what you’ve been told, I moved in because I didn’t want to hear the ocean anymore, the slosh of water autopsying itself— a reminder that I would one day be an unclaimed vacancy. That endless hum and pulse rattled the limp spiral of my body, echoed through the sideways cadence of my thoughts. […]

By Michael Prior • "Hermit Crab" is taken from the book Model Disciple, published by Véhicule Press • Read our review • Posted Filed in Poem of the Month

The cellar room

Tightly drawn curtains in the windows. Clay pot planted with balsam fir. Hung with glass balls, walnuts, apples on the boughs. Hand-painted rocking horse. Porcelain doll. Teddy bear. The house is silent. My mother, Magda’s, hand-loomed dress. Eyelet petticoat, the colour apricot. An old family photograph on the stucco wall — in a garden, the […]