Category: Poetry

If you said, long ago when we were
young, when the Sun flew like an idol
and mothered us, that we’d crouch here…
that we’d bang together this composite
house—hands on mugs, our porcelain tools,
and sink nails into Ikea parts,
I might have shrieked chimpish grunt-words
at you—become suddenly, bloodily single.

But we’re here, hunched over glue-
bound slabs of sawdust, grain painted on.
The sunset fists through hung blinds—
its knuckleprint on dust fleck gravestones
set in bedframe. We mimic reproduction
on our mattress, grasp thighs and
pin each other down. A haircut
held in wax, stupid-looking
against your nakedness. And the dust
stirs, only to land on the mug-hammers,
so, we speed up our construction.

Nathan Erb is an undergraduate student in Carleton’s English program, concentrating in creative writing. His work has been published by the Carleton English department and FASS.

 

sunscreen-covered cheeks mark late spring
when blisters blossom on palms and a waft
of overripe coconut dances with freshly cut grass
and morning dew mixes with smiles
that grow with each jubilant bell ring
all too soon giving in to the greedy sun swallowing
pigtails and acrylic rings with no regard
for SPF 50

and autumn comes when
the curtains open again
and taught lips carry a pre-recorded script
for it is impossible for someone
to whisper me my lines
in the never-ending riot
i’ve harboured in my chest

on Sunday mornings, roaring lawn mowers are
silenced by thick blankets that engulf the disquieting
voices whispering a million reasons to fear Monday
birthing an echo chamber
a furious cacophony
a monster

a monster dark like midnight
stealing the moon, robbing the stars
its tempestuous moods forging
a twisted mutualistic marriage
in a world where divorce papers
don’t exist

but I will save the moon
tear it from the black hole
and break character for once
because summer always comes
and the breeze will hold the scent of
apple blossoms blue skies
and sunscreen

Maya Meloche is currently completing a major in Film Studies with a minor in English. If they aren’t spending time with their cat, they’re probably watching a movie, or watching a movie with their cat. Maya’s passion for writing goes back to dictating stories for her mother to type on an old laptop in the late 2000s and writing fantastical stories concocted from the boredom of after-school programs in the suburbs. In 2019, Maya and their high school friends’ short film was screened at the DIGI 60 film festival in Ottawa. Maya aims to work as a screenwriter someday.

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Jennifer Goodman is a third-year student majoring in English with a concentration in creative writing. She has had a passion for writing her whole life and it has only grown with age. In 2021, she began working as a ghostwriter for The Urban Writers and has published numerous non-fiction novels under a pseudonym. In 2021, Jennifer was longlisted for the CBC Non-Fiction Short Story prize for her story, “Raining Glitter.” She hopes to be a full-time writer in the future.

I started collecting them
like a middle-aged woman
collects coupons
saving them
like mementos
of strangers
whose faces I’ve never seen
but shopping habits
I know all about

The busy man
writes his
on the back side
of a ripped
gas bill envelope
listing
TV dinners
Chef Boyardee
Flowers for mum’s bday

The mother
writes hers
on the lined sheet
of a bright blue notepad
A white chevron print
frames the words
TO DO
1 x condensed milk
Tomato sauce—14 oz can
Cherry tomatoes
Wagon wheels for Chloe

The college student
(male, presumably)
scribbles
Pickles
Frozen food
and chicken titties
on a crumpled
green post-it note

I’m not sure
what made me start
holding onto them
but now
whenever
I find myself worrying
about inflation
or humanity
or the state of the world
I open my box
of found grocery lists
and can’t help
but chuckle

Danielle (Dani) Pybus (she/her) is a third-year English and creative writing major. She loves all things whimsical and silly and writes mostly about the small things. She is minoring in French.

I went into the Superstore looking for a head of lettuce.
In the snack aisle, I found my sixth grade classroom:
Go-Go squeeze and fruit cup,
cherries eaten first, pears last.

I haven’t spoken to my mother in a few weeks,
but I could have sworn she was standing right next to me
in the fluorescent light of the supermarket,
rummaging through the clearance rack
looking for discounted shampoo and conditioner,
maybe a cheap treat:
This is something I learned from her,
along with the universal truth
that you always forget to buy something
even if it was on your grocery list.

My father has never been the conversational type
but I called him last night
to ask how he cooks his brussel sprouts.
I found a pack of them in the back of my fridge,
whispering that they would start to rot
(Turn to sludge)
if I ignored them one day longer.
So I called up my dad
knowing that I could only ever eat them
if they were made his special way.

When I finally got home from the store:
snacks stacked in the cupboard,
produce stuffed in the fridge,
but the lettuce drawer still empty.

You always forget something.

Danielle (Dani) Pybus (she/her) is a third-year English and creative writing major. She loves all things whimsical and silly and writes mostly about the small things. She is minoring in French.

                        Remember 
                           the three 
                           little pigs 
                          how they 
                        smoked 
                      up—the 
                chimneys 
        and rafters, 
        how they

        sang like 
        moths? 

Wallpaper’s 
           peeling 
again— 
                but it’s 
any wonder, 
                given
                it’s halfw 
           ay between the 
        sill and the frame,

        halfway between
           light and dusk. 

                                            And then, 
                                       some
                                            days 
                                                             are just 
                                          for red sweaters, 
                                 peach-flavoured 
                             candy, and yellow

                                           stitches like
                                                  daffodils.

Simon Turner’s poetry has been published in places, most recently by The Fiddlehead and flo. Simon lives in Ottawa with a potato of a cat, and has had four plays staged in Peterborough/Nogojiwanong, either at or in collaboration with The Theatre On King.

Maia Corsame is an English Masters student at Carleton. Her research interests mainly lie in feminism within Early Modern and Medieval studies. When Maia isn’t slumped over her desk writing papers, she passes the time by crocheting tiny stuffed animals.

The cat eats plastic, obsessively,
like a real freak, and it seems we’re always
ripping something out of his mouth, paper,
some days, if he’s not too picky,
but mostly plastic — candy wrappers,
especially, or the bagged tortillas
we keep in the fridge especially
so he can’t get them. Today alone,
he’s caught and gnawed the cellophane
sleeve I pulled from the card for your mom,
and the bag of litter in the closet,
which he’s learned to open, and the chip bags
I bought myself after my big grant proposal
failed, and at first we laid in bed together
and I wept, and then the cat went after
the toilet paper under the sink
while we were distracted, such alluring
packages to chew, so neatly wrapped
and stacked in their plastic cocoons.
He drags one out for us to look at,
laying in bed like that, and attacks it
quietly, almost tenderly, in the doorway,
as if to say See? I’ve brought it right to you.
We have what we need. Dry your poor face
and we’ll open it together. 

Dessa Bayrock lives in Ottawa with two cats, one of whom is very loud and almost always nearby. She recently completed a doctorate about Canadian literary awards. You can find her, or at least more about her, at dessabayrock.com, or at @dessayo on Instagram, where she posts book reviews and anti-capitalist memes. 

I want to live by the ocean.
Trade city slurs for crashing
                                          waves

and live on the edge
of mother’s fertile frame.

I don’t look in the mirror
much.
There is a cry calling out
                                          to me

from somewhere
deep
within.

A plea,
carried over the water’s face,
skimming the spray of the surface—
a siren call within                            my soul,
a tension, begging
                                                 for my attention,
               between seemingly solid, and not
                             so solid space.

As I breathe in, life
pools
and moves through, almost
releasing
as I edge to the bank on
the shore where I stand and
                             wait
for the waves
again.

Alicia Feizo is a Canadian writer and poet from Ottawa, Ontario, land which is recognized as unceded Algonquin Anishnaabe Territory. Her work largely focuses on the themes of trauma, the holistic nature of life, and what it means to be human. She finds inspiration in everyday experiences and draws from the well of her rich inner life and the connections that nurture her soul.

Abigail Rabishaw is a 4th-year English major. Abigail is originally from Pembroke but has been in Ottawa since 2015. Abigail typically writes poetry and flash fiction, and her work expires the themes of grief, complicated relations, and the definition of home. Abigail was the runner-up in the 2019 Carleton Fiction Competition, and won the 2023 Lilian I. Found award. Abigail’s work has appeared in bywords.ca, and talking about strawberries all of the time. She also runs a small press called Prime Press with her partner.