When the first harmonica-stricken breath of “Piano Man” barges through the radio, my hand leaves the steering wheel quicker than my thoughts to jab the station dial. It then comes through as only static, but that’s the better of the two. The outside air is cool....
introduction There’s something that draws me to the act of writing a body. A body that’s incomprehensible as a whole, but can be broken down into a set of features to investigate. There were many years where my body was nearby but I was not...
It’s been thirty minutes since we took the mushrooms, and her pupils look big enough to swim in. I wonder if I look as high as she does, but we were warned that looking in the mirror might make us freak out and ruin our...
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...
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...
Take the long way home with me, the girl thinks. She is small, slender, a frail-boned thing, with pale freckled skin and hair as dark as ashes. Her eyes are huge and black, large enough to act as mirrors even in foggy light, and rimmed...
Johnny McKinnon was, in many ways, a simple man. He enjoyed large trucks, good beer, and action movies – as long as they weren’t the kind with magic or aliens or other weird shit. He liked hockey games if the teams weren't playing like they...
Let me tell you about Jim Grossman. Now, when I think of Jim Grossman, I can’t help but picture his artificial white teeth. Maureen always said he must paint them with the same stuff they used on their old fence last spring. I tell you...
You sit across from me on the couch, a variety of lamps yellowing the dark room, your fingernails tapping against your knee. The silence is filled with my heartbeat pressing against my neck, my wrists, my fingers. The blood gets caught in my muscles. You...
[audio mp3="https://www.queensquilt.ca/wp-content/uploads/2025/02/Host.mp3"][/audio] The dread comes first. The signs begin later, though still months in advance. You’ve seen it happen before. You know what to expect, what to fear. The way your sister’s body changed and betrayed her. The way your best friend survived, only to wish...