Thomas

Prose by Amaruuk Bose Art by Amy Ng We were 15 and stupid and had skipped French class because we’d just learned about the concept of free will. We scraped together pocket change for drinks from 7/11, laughing giddily to ourselves as we paced the tiled floor unsupervised. We could get anything we wanted. We’d

The Crying of the Locust

Poem by Sally Elhennawy Art by Aiza Bragg the hay stalks whistle ‘neath the dunes a weathered tree              stands on a hill silence settles on the desert at noon a heavy quiet, hot and still. it seems no life can flourish here,  deep within this hollow land, as rock erodes,   year   after     year, and crumbles

nocuous living

Poem by Gurnoor Powar Art by Keeley Sieban A little girl Flying on her toes Digging them into the soft wet dirt As she spins An anchor So that she doesn’t fall The anklets adorning her feet Singing as they rub against her skin Chafing the delicate bone She allows the sun to shine Through

I changed my name Here

Poem by Rehema Ivan Art by Karen Zhang Two names live on my tongue  resting, twirling, clashing  Both call. Speak one.  Swallow the Other. Let her pierce my mouth as I draw lips closed– Let me smile at you, red running down my chin– Let me not cry bringing you and me together; Nor sigh,

Biological-Soliloquies and Ascension to Canadian Canon

Essay by Kishoore Ramanathan Art by Karen Zhang In her contemporary novel Monkey Beach, Eden Robinson employs a unique technique throughout the text in which the narrative voice changes and digresses to discuss biological processes – which I will refer to as biological-soliloquies. Biological-soliloquies are dramatic deviations from the regular voice and narrative style that

an elegy to gold

Poem by Grace Payne Art by Athena Li I met you in the summer heat— forever fated fever dream. still with your love, I turn water to steam slowly you seep into every rivet  trailing my lips for a fine sweet minute the most sugary maple tree could never compare to thee such pleasure to

Love is (unapologetically) love

Sonnet by Sally Elhennawy Art by Luiza Ortiz If I could show the world my love for you,I’d speak my truth a hundred thousand times.My wary heart would start to love anewAnd our passions would constitute no crimes.If our tale of love was acceptable,I’d sweep you away in the city streets;We would no longer be

Trees, Tripods and Trying Times

Multimedia by Forrest Berman-Hatch I took this photo at Ada’itsx, or Fairy Creek, last August on the unceded territory of the Pacheedacht and Ditidaht Nations. It was taken after the heat dome and wildfires, but before the floods. Deeper in the Anthropocene than anyone truly knows, we are situated in time by disasters.  High in

Cyborgs, Simulacra, and the Male Gaze: Deconstructing the Female Body in Yukito Kishiro’s Battle Angel Alita

Essay by Kaleena Ipema Art by Athena Li The cyberpunk comic series Battle Angel Alita introduces its female protagonist in the form of a detached cyborg head, fractured and abandoned in the dystopian landscape of the Scrapyard. Although bodiless, her chipped facial features and fragmented torso deliberately reveal enough femininity to identify not just a

Come and See

Poem by Luka Poljak Art by Aiza Bragg Come and See Content Warning: Mentions of war, genocide, violent imagery, and animal cruelty A boy and girl starving in a butchered village Digging up anything so he can Feed me. Feed me.  The mutilated house they find with wooden hard hands Their tongues molest an empty

The Consequences of Technologized Relationality in Klara and the Sun and “The Perfect Match”

Essay by Colby Ballingall Art by Amy Ng Human connection is defined as a “person’s subjective sense of having close and positively experienced relationships with others in the social world” (Seppala et al. 412). Psychologists argue that this connection is essential for health and survival (Seppala et al. 411), building on Maslow’s famous theories that

Some Birds Sing at Night

Prose by Corey Morrell Art by Aiza Bragg Mrs. Adney lived on her own in a small farmhouse, not ten minutes down the road from us. In the spring she had become ill, and by the time summer came around she was mostly bedridden. Her pain was so bad we could hear it from the