Ice Tsunami

By Artem Sapegin

Margot had been waiting for a sign from God, and now the ice was coming. It unfurled over the grey horizon like a flower in expedited bloom, moving over the lake towards land. When it reached the edge of the backyard it crawled with frozen fingers over hardened earth, covering dormant grass and the tulip beds Margot had been monitoring for signs of spring. Watching…

On Dorchester Boulevard

Photo by David W. Marvin, c. 1967, McCord Museum Archives

Because for now you are happy, puttering along beside the thoroughfare in all that taffeta and lace. The boy is a neighbour, and you’re the only girl he’ll be seen playing with. They all want to be seen playing with you. At school, they gather around where you eat lunch, try to swap for your baloney-and-mustard, giggle as you crack jokes about the teachers. T

Somnambulant’s Song

By Fede Casanova

He’s there again. I can hear him before I even look. It’s been two years that I’ve walked past this man playing the same tired old tune. The notes come out his strangled trumpet like shrill screams. The only time he’s gone is when it rains. Day after day, the same people walk by with their limp pockets and empty shrugs. Most times…


By John Towner

The old man unlatched the gate and slipped into the fenced yard, cooing at his prey. The first two he caught easily, one under each arm. Out by the chopping block he passed one of the roosters to Jack. Jack held the struggling bird like a bellows and prayed it wouldn’t wriggle free. He watched his grandfather press a slender head between two nails on the stump and heard the chicken’s shallow hiss. A jewel-like eye twitched. The old man turned to look at Jack.

loss of (her)self


I was crescent-mooning lemons the winter afternoon that my hair fell out. It was mid-January, the cold season, and I had been headachy all morning. I suspected a virus blooming in me, influenza that I could rinse away with mugs of ginger tea, cinnamon, turmeric, cayenne.Read more →

The Dawn of our Competition History

by Robert  Zunikoff

To Charles Pear’s regret, Andre Dovenstock didn’t pass away. Despite the hard times, Mr. Dovenstock showed no sign of weakness or surrender, so Mr. Pear had to suppress his hope. He considered moving to another town, any place would do.Read more →

Urban Wildlife

We raised our eyes from where our children were playing in the sand and peered up through the branches of the tall pine. It was true, there was a boy shimmying along one of the tree’s narrow branches, at least twelve feet off the ground, the limb flexing under his weight. Read more →

You Don’t Do That to Pele


As a ghost, you should be nimble. You should mosey, kick up your heels, do the boot-scootin’ boogie. Instead you can only float—you’re a sickly grey balloon, attached to my rapidly burning wrist. So nice of you to join me on Hapuna Beach, Dad.Read more →