spring 2016
Table of Contents
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A conversation with a massage therapist
Francine Cunningham
I Saw the Best Minds of My Generation
Christopher Evans
All Bones Hunger a Home
Algonquin
Ashley-Elizabeth Best
Year In Review
Starling Advice
Amie Whittemore
air mattress
the clinic printed off a calendar
B.J. Best
Ottawa Hospital: Eating Disorder Ward
Fan Palms
Mallory Tater
Unavailable
On Buying a Second Pair of Birkenstocks
Pamela Mosher
There's So Much to Tell You
On Some Good Days
Alison Braid
There’s So Much to Tell You
How my fist won’t fit in my mouth,
that I sit still trying to unlearn my reflection,
this body like the taut skin of a balloon.
Evenings hang heavy from their hooks.
I sit still trying to unlearn my reflection.
What more can follow? Evenings hang
heavy from their hooks. Yesterday,
I overheard one gardener ask the other:
what more can follow? It was spring
and he was sunk in tulips.
I overheard one gardener tell the other:
I feel like that invisible man stoned in the snow.
It was spring and he was sunk in tulips.
I think I wanted to love him. I feel
like that invisible man stoned in the snow.
His knees were soiled full moons when he stood.
I think I wanted to love him.
There’s so much to tell you. His knees
were soiled full moons when he stood. My hands
in their old way, hold nothing near.