Art by Patricia Bour-Schilla
Thirty Degrees Below Zero
By Mary Wlodarski ● 2012
I like the cold so brisk and fresh it cuts through clothes and crimps nose hair...
Saturday Morning
2012
It was around 9:55 a.m. I was waiting for the library to open. I saw a cute Ethiopian girl coming toward me. She had dark brown skin, short hair, and a pretty baby face. “What time is it?” She asked me. Her English accent was very good.
The Dead of Winter
2012
We speak of it as though it were a place, a battlefield strewn with corpses, a burial ground of shattered statues hooded with snow.
University Ave
2011
“Pho all the way around,” The leather jacket boy says While the girls compare nail polish...
Butterflies on Selby
By David Lyndale ● 2011
There is a café on Selby where I go to clear my mind and listen to the stories old Black men tell. Outside the café is a planter and in
Too Big for My Skin
2011
My momma never told a lie, she couldn’t when the truth was clear Through stretch marks and crow’s feet, the truth is what she told me Not through words, but through the curve of her hips The gleam in her eyes . . . the memories on her lips She is so beautiful, that her skin can’t even keep her concealed She is so beautiful, that in her early days she carried another life inside her, manifested the fire Sending her existence higher...
The Farmers’ Market
2011
Buying vegetables, Sniffing flowers sweet as honey, Begging for donuts. Near glass jars of jam, My feet hit the ground in front of Bright red strawberries...
Benediction
2011
The sweet smell of lilacs drifts over the city like a blessing. Yesterday was winter, today blooms radiant spring. Cafe tables unfurl up and down Selby Avenue, an old man shares a croissant with his dog, joggers and tubs of pansies claim the sidewalk...
Cold Night
2011
My feet are cold—the car is cold—the car sounds like a bucket of bolts Rolling down a hill— it’s so cold that my breath falls like ice from the roof...
Early Spring
2011
Pale vision on an early day: two gray wings gliding flat balance on the body’s straight line. A trill rises from the meadow....
Tracks
2011
Before I was born There was movement Paddles pushing pent up people through oceans of pain That explains my fear of water When I was born There was movement still