The cosmos leans on repetition– stars scattered, light returning again and again until the night becomes whole. Life here moves the same way. Days blur together– lectures and deadlines, highlighters bleeding into the night, coffee cups orbiting laptops. At first, it all feels ordinary, but meaning gathers silently, constellations stitched from the smallest moments. It is the...
Marcelle Strati left Cairo at 18 years old with nothing, and everything. She arrived in Montreal empty-handed, apart from the hand that held hers; the hand that belonged to Elie, the love of her life. A decade and two beautifully bright boys later, she and...
Sidewalk leaves blown in miniature tornados, Swirling, swishing ballerinas paired in the tango. Time and growth demonized, autumn decay romanticized. Not so satisfying, once it’s muddy, wet and full of sticks. It doesn’t itch, it doesn’t crunch, it’s stuck in the eavestrough. Why am I like this? Limbs, twigs, turned featherlight, Caught...
There is lukewarm coffee on the table. The couch is old and worn. There are imprints where countless people have sat, ghosts of the time before the storm. Back when people had names and faces had features. Rain batters against the windows. It slides down the...
(pu-pum—pu-pum) As my skin pulls apart, the soft tissues of my nose collapsing, the banquet blooms within my ribbed cathedral, The grubs and fungi break open casks, viscid blood settling at the bottom of my cellars. They toast with elation to my life, give thanks for their meal, and devour me in the...
Lessons taught between breaths Our lazy voices thick with sleep. Tones that roll like grassy hills, Fields where I am determined to till familiarity Though I am burdened by my tripping tongue. A corner of your mind reserved for dreaming, Though your reaching arms still seem to find me Mumbling in the...
Who brushed horizons open, Spilled dawn into river’s mouth, Draped blue ’cross mountain’s shoulders? Who folded hush into thunder’s pause, Wove hoarfrost across the ribs of stone, Taught roots to listen ‘neath loam’s dark pulse? I step barefoot into its breath, No stranger and no intruder— I’m only the wind stitched to my...