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Benjy’s educationq&a
photography
- 10 Years After: BC Ferry Ryan Walter Wagner
graphic fiction
- Waitin’ for Chip Nina Bunjevac
nonfiction
- Ode on a City Wall Sarah Gilbert
- Call Me Isabelle:
Baby Names, Girl Dolls, and the Rise of Antiquarian Feminism Pamela Haag - Al’s Story Albert Murray
As told to Robert Bergner - In Dominance Jamie Rand
- Impossible Fit Lise Weil
poetry
- Recycle Anna Avdeeva
- June Dimming Heather Davidson
- Hommage à Bonnefoy W.F. Lantry
- On the Occasion of a Book Burning That Very Nearly Happened Grant Loveys
- Mouna Raga/Dawning Sharanya Manivannan
- Grandmother’s Mortuary Dress Ilona Martonfi
- Backyard Maintenance George Moore
- A Sonnet on Wild Honey Pie William Roby
fiction
- Dirty Feet Edem Awumey
Translated by Lazer Lederhendler - Letters Out Finn Clarke
- One April Morning Robert Lalonde
Translated By Kate Forrest - See in the Dark, Like an Animal Emma Hooper
- Conciliation Gariot Pierre Louima
- Milk, Milk, Lemonade Steven Mayoff
- The Doorman Ben Philippe
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Getting Tomorrow’s Writers to Write: How Sylvester Stallone Came to My Rescue – by Ian McGillis
If it’s true that having children brings us into closer touch with the child in ourselves (not being a parent myself, I have to take that on faith), then it’s probably equally true that the best way to get back into touch with our adolescent selves is to go into a high school classroom. [Read more...]
poetry
Backyard Maintenance
George Moore
The impossible is never really there
only the shadow of the shadow
in the way you would ask me things
and then believe what I would say,
the moon is purposeful and green
on Leap Years and religious holidays, [Read more...]
nonfiction
Impossible Fit
Lise Weil
Walking the diagonal to her place. Up Gilford, right on Hotel de Ville. Ringing her buzzer. This door, so recently the door of a stranger. How foreign it was the first time, the boulevard, the traffic. The blue graph and spinning galaxies on the computer screen. The vaulted whiteness, the spareness. How impossible to love a woman who lived this way. Who was so poised, so elegant. So remote. Not to mention so beautiful. [Read more...]
fiction
One April Morning
Robert Lalonde
Translated By Kate Forrest
The garden had barely emerged from winter. At the foot of the cherry tree, whose white buds flecked with red were already on display, three delicate stalks of honeysuckle swayed in the breeze. She knelt, reached out, and cautiously stroked the soft stems. They left a pale blood in her hand, which she licked gingerly. [Read more...]