spring 2020
Table of Contents
Return to Home PageThere Is No Substitute for Good Planning Erin Kirsh
A Symptom of Resignation The Gee Whiz Element of Tropical Storms and Symphonies Jen Karetnick
Family Dinner In Which I Re-name My Father Poem Containing Only Words I Hate griffin epstein
Breathturning Chris Checkwitch
#teamkoi Carolyn Nakagawa
Six Gray Moons on a Screen Eleanor Kedney
Tchaikovsky, Age 52, Finds His Inspiration John Barton
Like the best myths Medusozoa Sarah Lyons-Lin
Moon Turned Her Half Face From Me Lawrence Feuchtwanger
Communion of Tongues Hege A. Jakobsen Lepri
Humid Weather Me of Me Catherine Strisik
Stem of Old French Creistre, To Grow Of Stinging Nettle Page Hill Starzinger
she is in the kitchen now Nora Pace
Monologue of a Fly's Shadow Monologue of a Cow's Shadow Danielle Hanson
A Twohanded Cut The Tornado Cut The Pandora Cut Torben Robertson
Another Vision Patricia Nelson
sold separately Lesley Battler
Supermarket Lobsters Robbie Gamble
blue light Stephanie Yue Duhem
How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Nachos Jessica Covil
#teamkoi 1
We scrolled past the headlines at first,
too used to stories of quirky pests.
Even though it was cold,
someone printed T-shirts
on demand. It was winter,
dark and otherwise quiet:
below lily pads, under lotus roots,
they would have nursed
new rings on each scale
for the close of another year. This is how jewels
sleep, how their sparkle grows
like fond memories
that come back each morning,
when it’s time to feed the fish again,
or the habit of a kiss. What glows,
however quiet, can be hunted, easily,
even through deep water.
#teams #teeming #ottersarepredators #takingcount
We found evidence, later—
by the pond, where we walk,
letting beauty discover us
even in winter, softening from stealth frost. Scales spread out like rose petals—
shimmering in morning mud, greeting the late
sunrise with colours that might still have grown.
We tried to explain to the blog writers,
the radio, the evening news:
how they were scattered
from the pond’s edge,
how that morning was
different from our daily
riches, how the sparkle
was small, not fixed
like a number sign, not a compound tagline
but all letters in every language:
making us wish we could read them.
1 In November 2018, an otter found its way into The Dr. Sun Yat-Sen Classical Chinese Garden in Vancouver’s Chinatown and began eating culturally precious koi from the garden’s pond. This poem is inspired by social media commentary and stories from my aunt, Mary Campbell, a long-time volunteer at the Garden.