Late in October, on one of my favourite walks along Omand's Creek, I was drawn into a field of pod plants (I don't know their name). For the past few months I've been exploring Miksang practice, which is the art of being present and seeing the extraordinary in ordinary, everyday things. The sunlight flowing through these fragile shells, particularly the one pictured on this cover, made me feel as though I was in a cathedral looking through many tiny stained glass windows; a holy place.
A.F. Moritz A Garden Is Not a Place: Poetry and Beauty
A.F. Moritz Three Poems
Üstün B. Reinart Kindness in the Ashes
Tom Wayman Three Poems
Dennis Cooley in the beginnings: the origins of Turnstone
John Wall Barger Two Poems
Mark Jordan Manner The House Is Outside
Evelyn Lau Headache Weather
Stephen Finucan Echoes of Flight
Anne Love Woodhull Two Poems
Naomi Crummey Fron Haulig
Shane Neilson In the gentle light as the morning nears where you were or when you reached the frontier
Ken Murray The Exception
Linda Frank Swarm
Sarah Bernstein The Answer’s a Lemon
Karen Roark Incarcerated Arsonist
Üstün B. Reinart
Mark Jordan Manner
John Wall Barger
Anne Love Woodhull
This story is almost entirely about a girl I used to know. Then I didn't know her for a while, but now I do again. We reunited a couple months ago at a sex shop on Queen called The Shag Shack. It was mid-October, sunny and raining. I was sifting through a cardboard display of rubber fists near the entrance door when she approached me, tapped my shoulder with the tip of a turquoise fingernail. Johnny? she said, and her voice sounded the same as I remembered, like a child smoker. Johnny Kines? Is that you?
This morning you wanted the world—
buttery shoes with hot-pink soles,
armfuls of frayed lilies, a whole Black Forest cake—
and came home empty-handed,
headachy. Thirsty, fretting.
Cursed your bloated image in the mirror,
the puffy face with the piggy eyes
squinted against the light.
Since this is their moment, I'm going to talk about gardening, and beauty. It's the season of gardening, spring, when nature puts forth its sexual splendour in the young, urging them on to their function. In fact, it makes everything and everyone a part of youth, for the putting forth of beauty surrounds and penetrates all, even those that it no longer seems to inhabit.