Duality
“Where are you from?” Usually, people don’t believe that I’m Jamaican, on account of me not having an accent, not speaking patwa—and also not being Black. They don’t generally have a probl... Read more
Remind Them
Colour: forever reside in my blood will keep me on holy ground colour that lived war inside of her. War: the goodbye kisses, tangible on cheek three years on nothing left to go back too. Hom... Read more
Two Movements
I From the terrace before six I see a train crossing, Three cars long—“That’s it?” Passing in no time at all. I linger for the evening commuter; longer, heavier, humi... Read more
The Tower
Looking down to the ground below, wind whips around my body. The gravity allures me, asking me to take the step forward, asking me to throw it all away. I am reassured; my heart gives way to apathy. T... Read more
Three Poems
Untitledmy mother is a pile of dust between two bricks unable to be condensed to a finer powder she sleeps in her ashtray next to the cigarettes that numb her I walk through the door just make a good ... Read more
An Ode to Closure
Last year students from Cameron Heights Collegiate Institute (CHCI) filled the pages of issue i with creative writing and visual art. For issue ii, we had hoped to continue our collaboration with the school through a series of in-person workshops, and to connect with more students from high schools across Waterloo Region. COVID-19 put these plans on hold, but fortunately, one art teacher from CHCI fought to keep his students connected with us. We thank all the workers in education and students who continue to navigate complexity during the pandemic, especially those who give time and energy to facilitate opportunities for artistic development. Read more
Quezon City, October 1, 1975
Everyone is watching two men bleed in the square. i. They’re leaning on each other, heads on the other’s shoulders. The referee pushes them apart and the mouthpieces fly into the air. Granddad, th... Read more