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Past Issue

Cover Image: Gregory Scofield and mural
Photo of Gregory Scofield by Janzen Photography. Mural in background, between Furby and Langside Streets in Winnipeg, painted by Art City participants (mostly children) in 2015, photographed by Janine Tschuncky.
Autumn 2015, Volume 36, No.3
Gregory Scofield: Conversation with the Poet / who didn’t know my aunty
This issue features the 2015 Anne Szumigalski Memorial Lecture by Gregory Scofield and includes poetry by Patrick Friesen and fiction by Trevor Corkum.

Table of Contents

Gregory Scofield Conversation with the Poet / Who didn’t know my aunty
Patrick Friesen Five Poems
Trevor Corkum Henrietta
Amanda Merritt The Keep
Bernice Friesen XXs
Holly Appling blue jay
Jacob Lee Bachinger Two Poems
Libby King Shields of Imagined Impunity
Michael Dunwoody I Never Take The World Head On
Jane Huffman Beekeeping for Beginners
Carousel Calvo The Abandoned Lot
Rebekah Rempel Two Poems
Linda Frank Red
Heather Paul Hard to Swallow
Jennifer Delisle Vancouver
Laura Cok He loves the trees that don’t love back
Steven Artelle memoir of the wooden man (fire eater)



Bernice Friesen
Gregory Scofield


Carousel Calvo
Trevor Corkum
Libby King
Heather Paul


Holly Appling
Steven Artelle
Jacobe Lee Bachinger
Laura Cok
Jennifer Delisle
Michael Dunwoody
Linda Frank
Patrick Friesen
Jane Huffman
Amanda Merritt
Rebekah Rempel

Fiction Excerpt
Hard to Swallow
BY Heather Paul

Wish I could say we met in Paris in the springtime at a café. Or something dreamy and romantic like that. Maybe in the future, I’ll reinvent the story that way after time has soothed the sting, and frequent repetition has skewed so many details that truth is just the skeleton and fattened-up fiction the flesh. Like that time in Venice, ages ago. I tell people I partied with gondoliers until five a.m. I neglect to add, however, that I got pissed on cheap spumante by eleven, puked out the side of the gondola by twelve, and passed out in the boat until their return from the party at five. And I could tell them all about me and Will falling in love while working as art instructors at a camp in upstate New York, but I’d be afraid of fudging the specifics. Besides, cheerful beginnings, never mind the falsified details, seem to be what people want to hear, though it’s miserable endings, with their indelible clarity, I seem to remember best.

Poetry Excerpt
The Keep
BY Amanda Merritt


Come. Stir the tadpoles in the water
with your willow switch. Work
your hands and conjure evening in creek-bottom,
fingers mussed with cool river-slip:
the temperature of silence.

If you want to know the origin of the fingerprint,
examine the quarter day-moon in the full heat of august—
an eighteenth-century seal
impeccably preserved en bleu.

Non-Fiction Excerpt
Conversation with the Poet / Who didn’t know my aunty
BY Gregory Scofield

When my aunty was a little girl, maybe five or six, there was an old lady named Iskocês, Little Fire, who every year set up her tipi in the yard for the entire summer. For some reason the old lady was particularly fond of my aunty, finding any excuse to make her visit. Every morning, without fail, Iskocês would be waiting with her bear grease and sharp-toothed comb, ready to smooth and pull my aunty’s curly auburn hair into two neatly divided braids. As a child, I imagined the old lady to be more like a witch; a magical old woman who, like her name, could make fire with her fingers, who had medicines and brightly coloured ribbons that hung from the poles inside her tipi and who, like my aunty, could fly without wings.