march ’26 issue

Inheritance

My mother wasn’t perfect,
But there was a perfection to her,
Like someone turning before you call.

My father wasn’t kind,
But there was a kindness to him,
Like someone turning after you fall.

Inheriting these ephemeralities,
I got the worst of the lot.
Her narcotic air of melancholy,
His futile anger, detached and hot.

by Elizabeth Phillips
Hamilton, ON

(not) your new belt

I saw someone else
wearing your new belt today
the one I dreamt about licking
like a cat
with a mineral deficiency.
Your white tank, jeans, shiny buckle
my leopard print and fishnets and
mascara already smeared like you’re
in on a secret at the end of my bed
might as well be just one more end
of
the
world. Got me on my knees
at your feet
huge even under you
I tug your belt loops
you thumb the lipstick
off my teeth I run my
tongue on your belt
plant kisses, cherishing it
my hair in your fist tells me
you feel
all
of
It. Drool slips from my lips
as you undo your belt
offer more of it inch
by inch I look you in the eye
and let you see my hunger
and you know my hunger
is not only for you but the
whole damn world a whole
different world
beautiful and
terrible we make it real
inch
by
inch. I saw someone else
wearing your new belt today they said
you’re not the only one who can
wear a white tank. Maybe their
leather will look so damn good over their
denim and I will taste their rings
like dreams
when they’re inside of me

by Birdie Gerhl
Hamilton, ON

STILL HERE

Not ditching you—
I know it feels like that’s what I’d do.

If I finally get out
the hell hole I’ve been fighting through.

But don’t you babble on
like I’ve got some stake in a catapult.

The cliché told me I should ramble on,
and though I resisted,
I thought it would be worse if I missed it—
now wouldn’t it?

I’m not dissing you.
Like, who really shits on our hometown more than you?

And I’m flying—
like my wings were designed for something.

And you’re gluing papier mâché to your shoulders,
and telling me I’m vicious somehow
for flapping them up there.

Why don’t you cackle on?
Like a hyena on your trust fund, nest egg, lawn?

And I knew I was born to lose—
but I played to win.
I wasn’t fooling you.

But it’s a good story to tell yourself,
now isn’t it?

by A.R. Neptune
Hamilton, ON

Untitled

you walk outside and attract the sun like a
sun kissed goddess.
you two walk hand in hand
while a glimpse of winter surrounds you

winter on your mind
it’s cold in there.
snow falls and freezes your heart
numb

the sun kisses your face
close your eyes, she says.
“you’re home now”

by River
Toronto, ON

Words we could use instead

my one boyfriend
is a fish
fish don’t know what boyfriends are
fish aren’t boys, or even girls
so we do not go out on dates
but from time to time
we recognize each other
on the long and lonely shore

between one bus stop
and the next
my dad-of-the-day chooses me
one night leaving city hall
cranes building condos
towering over prayer mats.
If I see him again
I do not know it

according to
the ontario disability
support program
my (alleged) housemate
is also my husband
so for the record, I live alone
with a weird dog
who has no income to report
on a monthly basis
and pays no rent

in place of words
we could use instead
let’s say this: convention
is not the same as clarity
and naming
can be a kind of control.
What’s permanent
is not necessarily what’s
important, and being invisible
is not always such a bad thing

all I really know
is that the dirt
loves me back
and one day I will have roots
that you who would destroy the world
could not describe

by Birdie Gerhl
Hamilton, ON

An abandoned husk

The enticement of an abandoned husk –
the hot haunted air held her voice at a whisper.
“Break in with me,” she pleaded,
fingertips longingly leafing through the shutters.

She spied the strewn debris with speculation.
“Was it a nursery? A classroom?”
The too-small red seat indicated a child’s use,
but the fist-shaped hole in the wall, the long bowed table –
signs of adulthood, violent and cold.
She itched to probe deeper, but wasn’t bold enough to go alone,

so I bit my tongue and smiled “sure,” easy –
which was easier than saying what I wanted,
which was “please seek my wreckage with such breathless desire” –
which was really just begging her, “break into me.”

by Elizabeth Phillips
Hamilton, ON

melian

waiting until the branches broke and the seasons tide brought new colours upon their scars

forever encircling, our eyes reaching

where when we came, upon ourselves

an opening serene, evergreenery bordering

earthen steps, our figures halt

locking each other

entranced sculptures

feeling all & nothing

with the paling throws of time

holding our eyes, our breath in time

nocked to each other, point to breast

ever breath distant

pointed, dreaming, bowing

our first steps are taken

the first of many embrace

a love we hold for all

by JdV
Hamilton, ON

A monument sketched on a disposable napkin

He does not know that I am disinterested
he is only interested in
filling, making nauseous work like
a dog finishing every scrap
in the bowl long past
the pains of hunger.

He does not know that chasing words
coy smiles and hands gently pulling wrists
is not a filling meal
that I am a person,
not a prize to be won
but he is a subway car
and sometimes the hands trailing down
my stomach are only tender because
they know what to do when they reach the bottom.

He wipes his soiled mouth on a napkin and makes
sweet artistry of me with his eyes
because he knows that I am the model
the rough draft
the fine collector’s item.

So I wipe my mouth with the tablecloth
and make a bridge with my knuckles
a skyscraper with my thighs
flesh homes and a pumping gurgling heart
teeth like beautiful bricks
because I am the fucking architect.

by McKenzie Cline
Hamilton, ON

Bananas and chains

I’ve got an ocean
of violence
in the palm of my hand
and in the other
a banana for scale. When you
dream of fire and water
do you know where I am?

safety
is only bullets deep
so rip out the chainlink
like the fat
butch rips my fishnets: make
the chainman blush. Set time
to the fading of my lipstick
let the barbed wire
bite

is life long
or just wide? Wide
as stitches and seeds
heartbeats stretched across
land and sea
under the quilt
and over the table
wings and knees spread wide
across the paper
every map a myth and
only the best win

for instance, if California
was once an island, what are we? Wet my
lips the length of the hallway: an oral
history in 10 steps. Count me out in
bananas and chains then, darling
measure me this: neighbour, daughter
lover, friend
who’s gunna make
our death beds? Find me
where the seeds of dandelions fall
between bedsheet and bare feet
we are counting
every blow left

by Birdie Gerhl
Hamilton, ON

Gaia

Stars exhale the vacuum of space
Dying breaths warning us lightyears too late
Their wonders we worship, their signs we ignore
For the fears of the scientists side with the poor
Each hour in starlight is blessing and grace
Before our calamity calls for the chase
While snow still caresses the cracks on our lips
And heedless we laugh at the crack of the whip
Her air and her water we bottle and sell
The trees in her forests we thoughtlessly fell
O distant dead ones, you cry to no end
Our souls are too shallow to cherish your friend
We’ll trash all her treasures and burn up her bones
And then leave her – naked, cold and alone.

by Elizabeth Phillips
Hamilton, ON