december ’25 issue

ache

pain streaks and pins my owns and tricks and spits
 what wish within would wound without win
crushing weight unbearable throughout
 meat of love hooks of fear prickle
where i am will be will go
 offers unending
surrender to heartfully wept
 seen your pain valid within without
gracious taking taken both manos tight

by JdV
Hamilton, ON

Spilt Milk

I couldn’t help but weep
As I came to, in our bed.
You were half asleep,
And I was whole again.

I’ve spilled out all over you,
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you”—
You pull me in without a second thought
So that I may exist all at once.

The backwash of pain continues to pool
In my eyes as you mould your body
Into a cloth for a night;
You soak me in so that I don’t drown.

You wring yourself out, silently,
Once you know I’m sound asleep.
I dream only of making it to morning,
So that I may kiss your dampened skin.

by Shay Bramer
Hamilton, ON

Deciduous

i miss ángela and how she used to take the tabs off beer cans
and wear them on her hoop earrings.
i miss waxing philosophy in the coffee shop
for hours over a ginger tea and a hash joint,
not worried about how cool or
likeable i was because
every day i would wake up,
walk out the door and keep going
and if i hit a wall, i would turn left.

one day i’ll have to write a letter to the boyfriend
i used to pick fights with in the bar because
he was just too nice to me –
not feeling good enough bleeds into life
that penny-like acid of missed things
and i used to think that tying a knot
in a cherry stem with my tongue
was my only party trick.

there is no “one”, the universe spits out what you need
and it is just moments searing together like
a fried fish.
i may no longer be at ease but
the deciduous beliefs i used to hold
are gone;
i used to think i would never dye my hair
but now i hate seeing the light brown grow in
and the other day i snaked my hand under my pillow
and thought i felt
my milk teeth.

by McKenzie Cline
Hamilton, ON

Borrowing Grief from the Future

when my grandma turns into the sun,
i will find a puddle of her through the trees.
i’ll close my eyes and shed a tear.
i’ll soak in her warm embrace while her rays
kiss my face.
each ray becoming a wrinkle on my skin.
even when it’s grey outside,
i’ll still feel her
as her water rippled face
is now mine—
until we shine together again.

by River
Toronto, ON

Untitled

when human beings are intertwined
our deepest wish is to be stars in the sky

by JdV
Hamilton, ON

A Welcome Escape

Legends tell of a girl
Who’s a little different,
Fascinating in one way
Frustrating in another—
Just do what you’re told
And keep quiet about it.
She’s a girl dissatisfied
With what is expected of her
But swallows it down, nonetheless.
She’s a girl whose dreams have begun to sparkle,
And in the morning she wakes
In a different place
With its own physics and laws.
Each night as the sparkles grow more luminous
And the places more bizarre
And the portals more easily navigated,
Reality grows more and more lacklustre
And the pressure more intense
Until one day
The girl,
She snaps,
Does something rash,
Something she can’t take back,
And so what choice does she have
But to disappear into her sparkle dreams?
It’s a welcome escape
Into worlds unknown.

Yeah, girl, I get it.

by Ris V. Rose
Dundas, ON

Cheap and see through

my love for you is like a newborn drifting off
to sleep – easy, often.
before you i was always tired
but still now my head likes to deflate slowly
like a dollar store helium balloon.
“white Godiva, I unpeel”
when i say i love you
i wasn’t born yesterday
i’m just see through

by McKenzie Cline
Hamilton, ON

Spite

If I appear to you in dreams,
Wherein once I used to smile,
I hope now I stand
With arms crossed
And lips pursed.
I hope I look at you
Unflinching,
Unblinking,
And shake my head.
I hope my disappointment
Is a force on your shoulders.

I am a petty creature.
If I wasn’t so pathetic maybe I’d laugh.
But even after all these years of healing,
There is still a spite
That winds within my flesh like ligaments
And burns like kerosene
When a struck, lit, and afire thought
Falls onto it.

by Ris V. Rose
Dundas, ON

The part where you get to come back

Sulking in the shower
I let the water run hot over top
my body, is flushed and sore.

How long have I been in here?

Something sweet like maple syrup
the scent of your sheets stick to me
before lifting off with the steam.
Aroma clings to the bathroom
walls dripping in sweat.

How much longer will I stay in here?

Reluctantly moving the soap over top
my skin, is withered with wrinkles.
As I try to cleanse myself of this filth
I also wipe away the essence of you.
When you are no longer tangible,
when you are no longer visible,
when you are no longer—

I shouldn’t stay in here.

The shower floor becomes cold joints
stiffening, goosebumps raising
liquid circling the drain
gurgling as it sucks up the remnants of you and I.

It’s time to leave here.

You told me the one good thing about leaving is the part where you get to come back.

I know I’ll always come back for you.

by Ryan Smith
Hamilton, ON

The seventh day

I don’t know what an ending feels like,
and that’s because I’ve never let myself
feel one – I learned in school that

on the seventh day God rested
and if someone as omnipotent
as him can catch a break then surely

it should be easier than this
but if you never stop going
maybe you’ll forget where you started,

maybe you’ll forget
that there was something before
this migraine of a memory at all

and man, I think I just need some time
I wish I could crawl in between
the spaces where calm hides

but maybe those spaces
are a worn out CD on a rainy day,
a t-shirt so old you forget where you got it;

maybe they’re you:
your run-on sentences
and how you remind me of Christmas hearths

or they’re the plume of a Virginia cigarette
or realizing that every home is new
before it’s old

and to be honest, I’m sure that
in the same way that the universe
moves us all towards each other painfully slowly,

I am moving too: the saltwater
in my eyes is not the sting of an ending
but the painful wash of gravity,

the tide that nudges me along
and I’m sure I’ve seen God resting
in the moments when you brush my lips

and I pray to the church that
gave me these nostalgic butter fingers:
always losing grip on the people I used to be

but I wonder that when you ask
a chicken where its egg came from
if it will reply

even though it knows the answer.

by McKenzie Cline
Hamilton, ON

aren’t all tattoos temporary?

i decorate my body with tattoos,
like they are temporary.
in many ways, they are
                         a false sense of permanence.
they can be removed,
transformed into something new
and age with their companion.
who will they belong to when i depart?
let them be an offering to the life
that breathes above me.
to visit the time i found a soulmate in a cat,
peeled and shared tangerines with my grandma
in the hospital, and learned that to love myself is
to love being a lesbian.
the ink of my memories will feed the reminder of
impermanence to those who wish to live forever.

by River
Toronto, ON

Under a Closed Lid | Behind A Closed Door

It came from a place
On which I’d thought I’d long since closed the lid,
But I suppose it’s volatile.
It leapt forward as a still-life image
Of me, sobbing
With the shriek of the mourner,
And you, holding me
With the patience of the protector,
And that image burned me when I awoke
As I thought,
Why couldn’t you have really done that for me?
Instead,
I cried,
I shrieked,
I mourned
In the quiet
And the dark
Behind a closed door
Alone.

by Ris V. Rose
Dundas, ON

Untitled

my heart grieves a love it never received.
i lay it to rest on a bed of flowers,
and tend to it daily with its favourite mug of
coffee, soft kisses and “i love you’s.”
a deep long sigh escaped its valves.
as if it waited years for its love to be given back
to itself.
as if its needs were ignored and fed to the heart
of another.
these acts of self love serve as reminders to be
the love i wish to experience in others.

by River
Toronto, ON

Ringworm

someone lights a tree
you play your loud music
whenever i can’t be alone
so often i could use it

everyone’s got a better place to be
you and i included
i can’t help but ruminate
on chapters inconclusive

too soon or not at all
engines that won’t start
standing on a table and showing
my legs
imagining they see my heart

if i imagine it for long enough
someone will come take care of
me
i want to play loud music too,
i want to light a tree

by Krista Killins
Hamilton, ON