Winnipeg photographer Bryan Scott has been documenting the city’s architecture and streetscapes since 2005. In 2013 he partnered with Winnipeg journalist Bartley Kives to publish Stuck In The Middle: Dissenting Views of Winnipeg. He maintains the photo blog Winnipeg Love Hate.
Alex Leslie The Sandwich Artist
Laurie D. Graham Two Poems
Stephanie Warner Domesticity
Leanne Lieberman Mr. Donuts
Byrna Barclay Two Poems
Armand Garnet Ruffo The Artist and His Four Wives, 1975
Paulo Da Costa A Catalogue of Devotions
Matthew Gwathmey from Appalachian Ecologues
Catherine Brunet Aramis in Leningrad
Douglas Burnet Smith Mosquitoes, Scissors, Stars
Souvankham Thammavongsa Charcoal
Bill Howell Two Poems
Darryl Whetter Ugly Underwear
Andrew Kozma Ode to the Ringworm
ELECTRIC CITY 2:
Kristian Enright Home, with Reference to Gertrude Stein
Jan Horner The muddy muddy
Duncan Mercredi neon moon
Maureen Hunter from Sarah Ballenden
Joshua Whitehead Two Poems
Daria Patrie The Monk and the Butterfly
Chimwemwe Undi Two Poems
Tricia Cooper www.Playdate.com
Sue Sorensen Four Poems
Lulu Akhanamoya This Is Canada: Confessions of a Culture Fiend
Clarise Foster Four Poems
Angeline Schellenberg Autism for Dummies
Keith Cadieux Even Fool’s Gold Has Its Shine
Colin Smith Two Poems
Carolyn Gray Open to Interpretation
Dana Medoro Three Charms for the Animal Liberation Front
Rick Chafe from Bite
Lori Cayer Three Poems
Kate Grisim Are there Cliques in Heaven?
Brenda Sciberras Tears Dry
Joanne Epp Two Poems
Louella Lester I Will Not Give Him a Name
Sally Ito Idle
James Scoles Sidewalks laced with secrets
Luann Hiebert home
Steve Locke My Boyfriend’s Nest
Rick Chafe (drama)
Tricia Cooper (drama)
Maureen Hunter (drama)
Paulo Da Costa
Laurie D. Graham
Armand Garnet Ruffo
Douglas Burnet Smith
My father always told me, “If anything terrible happens, treat yourself to a nice meal.” Advice passed on from one generation to another, a recipe for a history of starvation, but I didn’t know that. I only knew Chinese five-spice BBQ pork with pineapple and red glaze, fish and chips bundled in greasy newspaper, corned beef boiled in eggs, rotisserie chickens leaking orange condensed steam over tinfoil. I knew sweet and sauced and salty and, later on, spiked. I knew broiled and fat ’n’ happy. I knew how to drink a bad day out of a gravy boat. It wasn’t that there was never enough, it’s that there was never anything to begin with.
The signs are unreliable
and the houses are sheltered by a rise.
Two boys charging their bicycles up the incline,
trying to chase.
There’s a store and a baseball diamond and Big Bear’s here too
by the road in and out; they’ve made a place for his bones.
Well, what if I met a man, you see, and he wanted to marry me, start a family with me, have kids and all that, he would want to know about my family, naturally, so I would have to start telling him about my family, and he wouldn’t even wait till I was finished, would he, the man, he’d come up with some excuse to get out of it with me. I’d have to start with my mother. I mean we all start there, don’t we?