“The Best Lover” – Charlotte Joyce Kidd
“They’d cancel their Saturday nights, make every hour 8 a.m. Sunday, when together is unthinking.”
“They’d cancel their Saturday nights, make every hour 8 a.m. Sunday, when together is unthinking.”
“Shaking your body like a silent church organ / This thing that is you now”
“The yolk plops to the sidewalk. This happens with a second egg and then a third, and I want to say damn it and go home, but I am not a person who gives up on herself, not anymore. “
She stood on the edge of the bedroom. The walls, floors, and light were grey. She was wearing her shoes. The room was cluttered. Some of the clutter was hers, natural to her. Her uniform lay crumpled vertically in a corner by the closet; she’d stepped directly out of it and into her party dress … Continue reading “Sleeves,” new prose by Charlotte Joyce Kidd
She didn’t shudder and she didn’t say anything because she didn’t think HR would know how to deal with her boss projecting his phantom hands into her clothing.
check out our new prints in the shop by khatira madhavi, nahrin youkhanna, jess goldson, nailah king, charlotte joyce kidd, and josh elyea, with the art of mairi timoney and usamah khan!
Hoda Adra writes, draws, and makes experimental videos. In 2014, she was an artist in residence at the Banff Centre’s Spoken Word program. Hoda was born in Lebanon but grew up in Saudi Arabia – her home is Montreal. Read Adra’s prose on homelessness, and childhood Nahomi Amberber is finishing up her B.Sc in Microbiology at McGill University. … Continue reading contributors
The bottoms of the little creature’s feet were rough, as if they were covered in the tips of hazelnut shells. This was a thing it didn’t much like about itself. If it could have gotten some kind of procedure to fix its feet—surgery, maybe, or even something more temporary like a medical pedicure—it would … Continue reading More Interesting Things
“There’s something beautiful about learning to replace understanding with empathy, about reaching out and touching the tendril even though you can’t stick to it.”
Noise noise noise noise noise. A million million voices try to talk one on top of the other. It sounds like music. It sounds like the worst jazz you have ever heard. The effect of all the voices is to make you feel screamed at, but no one is screaming. They are speaking with only … Continue reading On Persecution: “The Strangers”
You must be logged in to post a comment.