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
A small girl and a tall, middle-aged man eat lunch together at the local fast food restaurant. Both have sauce on their face: him on his chin, her just above her left eyebrow, and both eat the French fries between them with ferocity. ‘Can I have another burger?’ the small girl asks the middle-aged man. … Continue reading On child abuse: “Snow in the water”
‘Is that all you’re having?’ Phillip has looked over her meal and seen that she is starving. It is the peak of a Melbourne summer outside and Merry feels fat and tired and large enough as it is. He frowns and pushes the breadbasket towards her. ‘You don’t have to worry about your weight, … Continue reading On Sexual Abuse: “Sizzler”
“IN THE BATHROOM” May and Silas lie on the bed. May knows that it would be worthwhile having sex right now—to feel close to him, to remind him that she is not ordinary. Right now she would rather have sex with her substitute science teacher (he had that hair that she liked, it licked up … Continue reading Issue 217 (Gender, Sexuality): “IN THE BATHROOM”
Bug when Benny was 1 and I was 7, I took him down to the park near our place on the lane named after Shakespeare he’d been at the pool with Mum all morning, tucked behind the blue walls on Alexandra Parade, and his tuft of soft hair was still wet he nestled into my … Continue reading On Family: “Bug”
Ken and Mavis lived at number 9 Flosstooth Avenue. Ken loved Mavis like a dog loves its favourite bone—he would chew on her every now and then to remind himself what true gristle could taste like, but then he would bury her, and all that she meant, and would wait for weeks or months until … Continue reading Ken
She dreamt in tiny fists. The fever pushed at her eyelids when she kept them shut, and leaked out and over when they were open. Each morning Nathanael came to her with tea and the newspaper and an orange but every afternoon she woke to find the tea cold and the orange so soft and … Continue reading she dreamt in tiny fists
Dad got anxious. Mama didn’t: she just swished around beautifully like colour in a paintbrush jar, singing Moon Shadow and tying scarves around her forehead so I never really knew how big it was. But Dad was anxious. His thin body shook inside his dressing gown, taking the tea Mama would bring him in his … Continue reading his wolf
Hey mate. Howyagoin? Good mate. Fark mate—you look like shit. Haven’t slept mate. I was up all night with that farkin chick that was hangin off me at the party—you know that one with her tits out? Aw—shit yeah. She was farked mate! So farked. And when I said I was goin home she started … Continue reading heart-shaped
On the street she walks along most days there is a wall. The wall is one side of a building and is tall and made of brown bricks, neatly piled and cemented together. The wall has been painted in one spot, up high, and it is this painting of a triangle fox that she watches … Continue reading oasis
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