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Past Issue

Cover Image: Alice Major by Olivia Kachman
Winter 2018, Volume 39, No.4
Volume 39, No. 4, Winter 2018
This issue features Alice Major's Anne Szumigalski Memorial Lecture, as well as new work by John Barton, Myrna Kostash, Bert Almon, Kim Davids Mandar, Christopher Graham-Rombough & more!

Table of Contents

Alice Major—Scansion and Science

Lorne Daniel—When the Tributaries Ran Rich

Brent Raycroft—Two Poems

Traci Skuce—Bliss and a Boy I Once Loved

Eric Paul Shaffer—Two Poems

Christopher Graham-Rombough—The Zamboni Manifesto

Stephen T Berg—Two Poems

Myrna Kostash—Two Hills Diary

John Barton—From a Rise Overlooking the Bay

Kim Davids Mandar—My First Non-White Christmas

Carolina Corcoran—Three Poems

Devin Stark—Why I Stole My Father’s Ashes

David Yerex Williamson—53° 59’ 39” N 97° 49’ 01” W

Hannah Senicar—Passing Pavement

Danica Longair—The Impermanence of Orchids

Bert Almon—Siberian Brides

Carole Giangrande—This May Be the Year

Andrew Brooks—fragment [music]



Myrna Kostash
Danica Longair
Alice Major
Kim Davids Mandar


Chris Graham-Rombough
Traci Skuce
Devin Stark


Bert Almon
John Barton
Andrew Brooks
Stephen T Berg
Carolina Corcoran
Lorne Daniel
Carole Giangrande
Brent Raycroft
Hannah Senicar
Eric Paul Shaffer
David Yerex Williamson

Fiction Excerpt
Bliss and a Boy I Once Loved
BY Traci Skuce

Before I met JP, nothing remarkable had happened in my life, but I felt an impatience that something should, and soon. I was twenty, worked at a health food store, and agonized over phrases my boss had plastered above the bulk bins: “Live Your Potential!” and “Follow Your Bliss!” I asked him what they meant, how exactly one did those things, but he only cast me his one-with-the-universe look and said, “It’s your journey, Claudia. You’ll find your path.”
So while I was elbows deep in red lentils or culling limp chard leaves from the produce bin, I wondered how I’d do it. Live my potential. Follow my bliss. I’d already given up on university...

Poetry Excerpt
Towns along the Yellowhead Highway
BY Stephen T Berg

Let them say that he wrote crap poetry but loved the sound and feel of words, terms, names, two, three or twenty at a time, coming together like sprocket and chain;

like the names of prairie towns picketing by on the Yellowhead Highway, rolling in his mouth: Langenburg, Churchbridge, Bredenbury...

Non-Fiction Excerpt
My First Non-White Christmas
BY Kim Davids Mandar

...It was 1976, and my parents had been living in Canada for eight years. I cherished the time with my father, just the two of us, before I went to sleep each night. It was calm and safe, not like his firm moments of disciplining us with hidings and critical demands.
Dad talked about his childhood like it was Disneyland; a mix of incessant laughter and communal adventure, where children could enter any house in the neighbourhood and be fed savoury bobotie and rice before a harried mother or big sister would chase him out the door to get back home.
My mom didn’t mention South Africa unless asked a direct question. It was as if she had brought everything of value with her when she immigrated to Canada. She was like a black box: expressionless, avoiding conversation by stepping out for a smoke or doing a chore. Her freckled brown complexion was a backdrop for dark brown eyes that quietly observed and absorbed. She spoke sparingly. I never knew what she was thinking.