There had always been and would continue to be refuge in a life lived close to the words. There was and would be refuge in friendship and letters and in writers like Ruhl.
Firework – Editor’s Pick
That night, you slept over on the couch of my tiny bachelor apartment and in the morning, we stood on the balcony watching the sun rise. I asked you, why haven’t you stuck with anyone yet?
Booz Allen Hamilton; A Punch in the Gut; Ephemerals; Fulvia Mutica
we watched brought the popcorn wrapped in a tin foil hat waited, rounded up the odds of survival under umbrellas that foamed with anger at the endless handclaps of rain 'listen' the thundering hooves
of the sea aiming right for us
The Approach, Dilemma; The Dead Come In
There’s a tear in the curtain over there, you see it gaping and gawping at you so brazenly. There’s a tear in the curtain, should we peek through tattered fabric and find what may be found beyond?
She Sleeps
“Where…” the question trails off from lips that refuse to form the words.
“She’s in the trunk.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.”
The Delta
My experiences growing up Anglo in separatist Quebec had prompted me to study Canada’s history and reflect on my own sense of belonging in the modern world. But I had neglected to ask myself whether Canada had belonged to me in the first place.