trick of light

Emily Sanford



simply think of illuminance as light
                going toward an object—explicitly  

the amount of light as it touches 
                                       a surface, unreflected.   

inspect the roadside in drizzle,
                             moon in a pool. no: artifice. 

streetlamp reflected in spilled oil 
                                     slick imposter—skip it. 

apparition-rippled meniscus,
                      topographically atypical shift— 

a squint in brilliance dims.
                              this trick of light afflictive: 

as when visiting versailles,
                                  boating on the false lake, 

holiday-making on credit—
                                 bliss glints conditionally.





Born in Nova Scotia, Emily Sanford is a queer writer and performer who holds an MA in Literature and Performance from the University of Guelph. She is the winner of the 2016 Eden Mills Writers' Festival Literary Award for Poetry and 2018 Janice Colbert Poetry Award, and her poetry was listed amongst The 10 Best Poems of 2016 by Vancouver Poetry House. Her work appears in Canthius, Grain Magazine, Minola Review, newpoetry.ca, and Plenitude Magazine, and a recent poem was set to music for four-part choir by composer EKR Hammell. Emily lives and works in Toronto, and co-curates the popular Brockton Writers Series.


for grace on the beach


Emily Murman



we are looking for fullness
lying long in the heat
both hungry & not / cheez-its
sticking like shells in the sand
as hovering gulls honk nearby 

we are seeking out shade
shadows sliding over our skin
I’m definitely going to burn &
damn I hope our tattoos
don’t get all splotchy 

we need to find the spot where
lake michigan breaks open
the suffocating midwest
leave our phones on land
walk in & just sit there




Emily Murman is a poet and educator from Chicago. She is currently working on her MFA thesis. Her debut chapbook, SHRIVEL + BLOOM, is forthcoming via Dancing Girl Press in 2021. As of July 2020, she is a reader for Monstering Magazine. Emily can be found on Twitter @emilymurman


office stuff varnishes for repairs

Michelle Moloney King





Michelle Moloney King, {she/her} neo-postmodern poet, asemic poet, & editor of Beir Bua Poetry Journal / Academic background ~ computer science, primary teaching & Hypnotherapy / Work published in Spillwords, streetcake, Artistic Differences Project, Babel Tower, & others / Holds Pushcart Nom / Visual Artists Ireland member /


An interview with Robert Priest

Robert Priest is the author of seventeen books of poetry. His words have been debated in the legislature, posted in the Transit system, quoted in the Farmer's Almanac, turned into a hit song and sung on Sesame street. His latest recording of songs and poems BAAM! is available on Spotify, YouTube and iTunes. robertpriest.org

How did you begin writing, and what keeps you going?

I wrote my first poem when I was eight years old. That was under my own steam. I wrote occasional poems throughout public school both as assignments and just because I enjoyed it. I also attempted to write novels. In my teens I wrote dark satire influenced by John Lennon‘s books and love poems and letters influenced by love which I was constantly in. I always knew that I would be a writer and that was a steady vector through my life. It was a certainty. My plan when I finished high school was to go to University of Waterloo get a math degree, go into law, go into politics, become Prime Minister of Canada and then write after that. But I did four months of math and when I got onto my co-op job between terms I started to write in earnest and didn’t go back to school. I’ve been lucky enough to keep at it ever since – poems, songs, novels, plays, aphorisms, and a fair number of newspaper articles mostly for Now magazine. Whatever it was that initially made me certain I would be a writer is what keeps me going. I get a lot of joy out of writing. I do also have to credit the ancestors who envisioned and fought for the socialism that has helped to fund me. And in the present day the people of Canada through their agencies the various arts councils which have made the financial aspect of it a little less onerous.  One other thing – I lived for at least a couple of decades at the Bain co-op where I had a rent subsidy. When my income went down my rent went down. As during those years I was supporting a family I couldn’t have afforded to live in Toronto without it.

Plus I have a partner (the one in the Marsha Kirzner poem) who unreservedly believes in my talent.

What poets have influenced the ways in which you write?

As a poet I was influenced a lot by Neruda, Mayakovsky, Irving Layton, Leonard Cohen, Jacques Prevert, Rimbaud, Baudelaire (Paris Spleen) Margaret Atwood, Gwendolen MacEwen and the surrealist manifestoes of Breton. As a songwriter I was influenced by the Beatles, Dylan, The Stones Jim Morrison, Bob Marley, and later by hip-hop (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y9qCwMMX3FM) and lately by Neo Soul (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tITr2lRqdMo) and again by Leonard Cohen (and my song about him: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AppyaqdMw1Q&list=RDAppyaqdMw1Q&start_radio=The) 

You mention in your author biography that your « words have been debated in the legislature, posted in the Transit system, quoted in the Farmer's Almanac, turned into a hit song and sung on Sesame street. » How have you been able to move your work into such a variety of spaces?

It came about pretty naturally in the flow of my life. I’ve had a long run. I had always been inspired by children’s literature and had always written rhyming children’s poems for what they now call middle school kids. But when we had our own children and I got immersed in picture books I saw that that was a high art and got ambitious to create in that mode. My adult poetry was always written somewhat surrealisticly (http://halvard-johnson.blogspot.ca/2014/03/robert-priest-hand-poems.html) but now, for little children, I was writing about the real world – poems/songs celebrating nature, seasonal change, (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f40nMLLxfZg&t=3s) familial love, playground equipment etc.(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xrErwR3Xk4Q) In these poems by the way even though I wasn’t writing technically like Neruda I was influenced by his odes to common objects. A kind of cross fertilization. Having children also lead to my children’s novels and my plays Knights of the Endless Day and Minibugs and Microchips.

I have always had an aphoristic mode as well. Even in high school – I distinctly remember in math class having a series of aphorisms about vectors just pop into my head and getting really excited about it. I wrote my first song at the age of 12. It was just after the Beatles had broken big in the world and the fact that they wrote their own songs inspired me. I was walking along behind a girl I had a big crush on. She was kind of big but beautiful. So to the beat of my footsteps I wrote a song about her which I still know. Songs began to come to me unbidden all the time as did poems in my early 20s. The creative act was always accompanied by a high feeling and a great jolt of joy which was good enough reason in itself to write them down. So given my natural predilection, a poetic upbringing through my mother and through the library system’s books plus time to create at the expense of unemployment insurance, welfare and sporadic arts grants I’ve continued to be able to let the creative Chi take me. This has been a great blessing. I am grateful for it. At some point in my late 20s when I had put out a children’s album the CBC hired me and my co-writer at the time, Eric Rosser, to write at least one song a week for a children’s show. We didn’t get paid much but once a week a news-related children’s song was broadcast coast to coast including one just before the repatriation of the Canadian constitution and another kind of prescient one about cruise bouquets – using the war technology of cruise missiles to deliver bouquets to one’s loved ones. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z608h5Oec-k&list=RDAppyaqdMw1Q&index=2)

I still love a lot of those songs. By my late 20s and into my 30s I was writing poetry by day, finishing up with a children’s poem and often doing gigs with my bands at night. I never stopped working because working was my play. In that era (the 80’s) the Canadian content regulations came into being and in order to stimulate Canadian music the big media companies put together a fund called Foundation to Assist Canadian Talent on Records. (FACTOR)

Through this I eventually got some money to make a record and some videos. (My first record was funded by a Canada Council grant to write poetry which I had already written so I used it to make the Robert Priest EP ) Here’s a cut about the murder of John Lennon backed by the Jitters (https://soundcloud.com/robert-priest/01-little-gun)  here is the Ontario legislature having a bit of a kerfuffle about my (with Al Booth) anti-Harris song: free Ontario  (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j2q4aqSGCAI&list=PLv4Yid1tq2jiP3d91__PeTLxInweb_7OE&index=8)

Lately you’ve been working on prose poetry. What do you see as the difference between your work with the prose poem, compared to your work in the lyric mode?

I slip into prose poem mode sometimes when I’m feeling too confined. My aesthetic for the prose poem is looser than for lyric poems. In a lyric poem the density requires every part of the poem to be “poetic”. In a prose poem one can flow into it knowing that the poetry of it might only emerge in the totality. Plus you don’t have to worry about linebreaks. A prose poem is form without form. And it can provide a lot of room for an idea to roll and unravel. You can always edit it down to make it more compact like a lyric poem. I like to get loosely on a roll and run with it. A prose poem can be a fairytale, or a mock essay, a surrealistic revel or a narrative account in plain language. For me anyway. I’m all for everyone coming from their own aesthetic on this. Here’s a prose poem that Ray Coburn made a track for: (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ajAfYJEO7Y)

How important was mentorship to your early work? Was there anyone who specifically assisted your development as a writer?

My mother wrote poetry and composed stories and she encouraged me to do the same and insisted that I was a great talent. When I was 19 I moved into a house where the son, a guy named Ernie Spitzeder, was a writer and he encouraged the spirit of that in me.

When I was about 20 a novel writer named Leo Simpson was very impressed with me. That bolstered my already quite high opinion. I write my best when I feel like I am very significant writer. They weren’t exactly mentors but Irving Layton, Gwendolyn McEwan, John Robert Colombo, Milton Acorn and Alden Nowlan all made it known to me that they thought I was an important new voice in Canadian poetry. Bronwen Wallace was also a very big help to me.

You’ve published multiple poetry collection as well as recordings of songs. What is the difference between working on poetry and songwriting? Are you able to work on both concurrently?

Writing a poem is different for me than writing a song lyric. My early songs came to me with melody and words together. So that’s different. I would often hear them in my head when I was walking. Some of these were decent songs and my 1st EP (which was funded by a grant to write poetry I had already written) contains 5 of them, some of which got radio play and press. (https://youtu.be/KqglQW6MdlY) But ultimately I wasn’t as delighted as I wanted to be with my sense of melody so I started to write with people who I thought had the gift.  From there on no I did still write some of my melodies I mostly wrote lyrics which other people put to music. But even writing song lyrics for me is different than writing poetry.

The vast majority of my poetry for books doesn’t use formal prosodies or rhyme. These poems make their own structure as they proceed. Whereas writing a song lyric I’m leaning into the rhythmic template and the small demand of the rhyme – getting some impact out of expectations built into these ancient structures. Of course I’ve just written about 30 iambic rhyming sonnets for my next book and indeed some of my songs use no rhyme at all and proceed more or less like lyric poems. There’s a lot of cross-fertilization that goes along with the ecologies of these various poetic modes. So songwriting these days is mostly a collective effort. Most often I will write a lyric and then sit with a composer — sometimes Allen Booth, sometimes Julian Taylor and mostly listen and somtimes make suggestions as they compose a melody before my very ears. This is so exciting. Other times Julian for instance might have a fully realized melody but only part of the words and I will sit with him and help him finish off the words.(my favorite — https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bGrSoWw1g-4) With John Capek or David Bradstreet I send them words and they send me back a produced track containing the words put to music.(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-6a3Ho3r8aY&t=1s) Sometimes Dave sends me just a melody (as in his song “Imagine Me Home”) and I completely compose words to it. All this is good for the brain and good training for the other modes of writing because skills constantly migrate into other arenas. I don’t think I’ve ever cowritten a poem with anyone and wouldn’t want to. (actually I did one poem co-write with Charlie Petch and Ikenna Igebulla). Song collectivity is fine but in the poem I’m the master. “Song Instead of a Kiss” which was a hit for Alannah Myles was originally sent as a lyric to Nancy Simmonds who I had done a lot of cowriting with. She placed it before Alannah at a strategic moment and the song emerged from the 2 of them in short order. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SAhKH3VEqjQ)

Can you name a poet you think should be receiving more attention?

Well I definitely am as averse to big headedness as anybody but my poor soul down at the bottom of its well is insisting on yelling “MEEEE!”  But the 1st person who comes to mind other than that is Wally Keeler otherwise known as People’s Republic of Poetry. He’s done some avant-garde provocative, self endangering stuff that is truly brilliant and unique. I can’t encapsulate it here but do yourselves a favor and look him up. He’s the finest exemplar of the avant-garde spirit this country has ever had.



Chris Johnson



When small fluffy flakes white out my window I find myself watching a reflection. Wisely, my eyes automatically close to the exposure of bright light: high-beams appearing around a corner, or the setting sun jumping out from behind a tree. It’s simple biology, tho our bodies are failing us from the indoors as simple days are filled with more wars of words. Don’t let me get off book with these vague complaints, this almost scripted call-to-arms. I started with a glance outside in the off-chance I’d be surprised with some other eyes looking in. They’re not the thieves’, however we’ve placed human traits on raccoons’ masked faces. We’re stealing the earth from them, under their noses, as they prepare for a meal, as we all wash our hands.

a park garbage can
cold in two feet of fresh snow
tomorrow’s dinner






Chris Johnson (he/they) was born and raised in Scarborough, and they currently live in Ottawa, the unceded territory of the Algonquin Anishinabeg Nation. He is the Managing Editor for Arc Poetry Magazine, and his previous chapbooks include Listen, Partisan! (Frog Hollow Press, 2016) and Gravenhurst (above/ground press, 2019). @ceeeejohnson


New Property Lines


Bryce Warnes



grey & serried
second growth alders 


orange plastic flags


border of a
of a 


now here’s a damp patch
   worth the investment 

[…] a second single family dwelling
on parcels that are 10.0 hectares
or more in area— 

   so much potential!

at the westernmost edge of our map

the winter creek   anxious
with rain   hurries



Bryce Warnes’s poems and stories have been published in Joyland, PRISM, Poetry is Dead, and elsewhere. He lives with his family on Vancouver Island in traditional, unceded Quw’utsun territory


An interview with Julian Day

Julian Day is the author of Late Summer Flowers (Anstruther Press, 2021). His poems and reviews have appeared in CV2, The /tƐmz/ Review, periodicities, and elsewhere. He has lived in Vancouver, Saskatoon, and Ottawa, and now lives in Winnipeg.

How did you begin writing, and what keeps you going?

I started writing as a kid, long, rambling fantasy stories somewhere around grade five. Fantasy was my first great love as a reader. My elementary school library had the Shannara and Earthsea books, along with authors like Robert Asprin, Mercedes Lackey, Anne McCaffrey, and others. I remember typing up stories in WordPerfect and saving them on 5.25” floppies. My mother would print these out at her office, bring them home, and I’d read them and edit them on paper. Writing was always around my house, growing up. My mother is a poet, and I remember stumbling upon and reading some of her earliest poems on the old family computer when we lived in Vancouver, when I was maybe seven or eight. I remember thinking they couldn’t be poems – they didn’t rhyme! And we always had stacks of lit mags kicking around. I can remember NeWest Review, CV2, Dandelion, Descant, Rattle. Naturally, I didn’t read any of these because I was too busy playing video games.

Somewhere around grade nine, I started writing poetry, though I can’t remember what actually kickstarted that. But I remember submitting a terrible poem to my high school lit mag, having it rejected, and being crushed. Good practice for the rest of my writing life, I guess. I was lucky to go to a high school that had a great creative writing program. I took both the offered courses, and my writing improved tremendously. It was still pretty bad, and I still didn’t read nearly as much as I needed to, but that would come later. Some people find their voice right away; others, like me, are plodders, and need lots of time and space to figure things out.

I’ve stopped and started with my writing many times in the last twenty-five years, and I’m hopeful that’s behind me now. My longest stretch of non-writing was a span of about seven years after university. But in January of 2015 I knew I needed to start writing again and decided to start the new year by writing a poem a day through January. And I did. Most of these were nothing-poems meant to get me to the required one-a-day, but one of them made it into my chapbook, which I’m very proud of. Since then, I’ve tried to make the writing happen by writing. Waiting for that out-of-nowhere inspiration, or setting aside a few dedicated weeks once a year, seems far too dangerous. Too easy to get caught and have nothing to show. It works for some people, but not for me. For me, the biggest thing that keeps me writing is to keep writing.

What poets have influenced the ways in which you write?

I’ll take this question in a couple of different ways. The poet who’s had the most influence on how I write, by way of emails, of books for my birthday and Christmas, and generally gently guiding my tastes, is my mother. Around the end of high school, she gave me a copy of Seamus Heaney’s Electric Light, which I read over and over and over. When I studied computer science, she had an open offer that whenever I took an English class for an elective, she’d buy my books (after my intro course, I ended up taking creative writing, Norse sagas, and a year of Old English). And when I lived in Ottawa and brought very little with me from Saskatoon, I had a handful of the books she gave me: Heaney, of course, but also Anne Szumigalski, Tim Lilburn, Don McKay, Carmine Starnino’s The New Canon, as well as a couple of others.

One of the first poets I read a lot was Shelley Leedahl, because my high school writing teacher liked her work, and so did I; Lorna Crozier was another of these poets. I learned a lot about the structure of a tight poem by reading them. Then in university, my infrequent reading time tended towards Sue Wheeler, who I’d gone to see with my undergraduate creative writing class at Amigo’s (of all places!) in Saskatoon. Her second collection, Slow Moving Target, was one of those books I read over and over when I’d packed up my life and moved to Ottawa. I’ve always loved her work, her ability to tell a complete story in the space of a short poem.

Since then: John Burnside, Sue Sinclair, Robin Robertson, Kiki Petrosino, Mathew Henderson, and others.

Have you noticed a difference in the ways in which you approach the individual poem, now that you’ve a chapbook forthcoming?

Not yet. Some poets are more naturally inclined to keep in mind the book or the project, but I still work mostly in the individual, potentially disconnected poem. This has some natural disadvantages, in that I’m not constantly working along a particular trajectory, but it does allow me to wander around a lot. I end up with lots of poems that feel complete, but don’t seem to fit well with the others.

You’ve published poetry as well as poetry reviews.  What is the difference between working on poems to critical prose? Do the two sides of your writing interact at all?

When I’m writing poetry, the purpose varies – sometimes I’m actively trying to write about something, and sometimes it’s more about writing through something and seeing where the process leads me. Poetry has a strangeness that constantly manages to surprise me. At some base level there’s a compulsion, and after that, there’s the layers of intentionality and craft that I’m constantly working to improve. Often, the final poem ends up wildly different from what I’d set out to write at the start, and I love that.

When I’m working on reviews, it’s partly to highlight work I think is excellent – because there is so much good work out there and not enough reviewers, I feel reviewing is important work. I don’t think I have it in me to do a particularly negative review or a takedown. Some reviewers do, but there is so much good work that’s under- or just non-reviewed that I can’t justify it for myself. Why write something negative when I could use my energy to highlight work that needs it? Maybe it’ll make a difference, maybe not, but good work should be celebrated.

At the heart of it, writing reviews also helps me understand better why I loved a particular piece of writing. I always have some kind of idea after I’m done reading. But it’s that process of going through, poem by poem, taking notes with pen and paper, mapping things out, re-reading many times, slowly and carefully, that really helps me solidify my understanding of what it was that worked well, or really spoke to me.

Doing this helps me build my knowledge of what makes great writing work. It helps me advocate for work I think is particularly good, or under-read, or important, and I really believe that every poet should also be a reviewer or otherwise publicly advocate for other poets’ work.

How important has mentorship been to your work? Is there anyone who specifically assisted your development as a writer?

I’ve been fortunate to have had my mother support my writing from the beginning, giving me books and pointing me towards writers she thinks I’d enjoy, as well as prodding me about submitting to various contests and journals. I also had great teachers early on: Paula Patola in high school, Bill Robertson as an undergrad. Ariel Gordon was the first editor to accept my work, and made me feel so welcome. After that publication, it was like a weight was lifted, and the amount I was writing, and its quality, increased dramatically. rob mclennan has always been available for my questions and is incredibly giving with his time.

Can you name a poet you think should be receiving more attention?

Tiffany Morris immediately comes to mind. She writes SFF/horror poetry, among other things, and I first read her work I think in Prairie Fire a couple of years ago. Her work is gorgeous, everything I love in the poets I listed earlier. She also does excellent work as an editor: she was the editor of Terese Mason Pierre’s Manifest, one of my favourite chapbooks from the last year. She’s published a couple of chapbooks, but I’d love to read a full collection.

There’s also Brendan Joyce and Kevin Latimer in Cleveland, who run the publisher Grieveland and whose work should get much more attention. em kneifel. Sneha Subramanian Kanta. Robin Sinclair.

And every year I hope that Sue Wheeler publishes another collection. It’s been sixteen years since Habitat.


Time Runs Out

Robert Priest


Time runs out. It runs out of town on its perpendicular horse leaving only space. The sand grain stuck in the throat of the hourglass. The moon with a face like a stopped clock. Time runs out on its commitment to keep things going. Space an endless wave arched over breath half out of lungs. The heart between beats. Time stops everywhere. And no one notices. We are place creatures only, struggling to look sideways, craning for the right angle glance—the dance in square time. But the stare can’t meet the eye now. The kiss has no chronology to complete itself. Time runs out on marriage. Time runs out for sex. The treaty is broken without the clock and its worrisome increments. And if our eyes are on the horror we can't drag our eyes away from the horror. Or if we’ve already looked away we can’t look back. There is no ‘again’. The calendar shows only place. What date is it? Here. What does the word ‘next’ mean. Here. The man about to die not dying ever.  Here. Here. No one has informed the wind though. It goes on blowing though the hole in the sail. Mere geography. Its vector an infinitessimon in freeze-frame. Only the animals can proceed. Birds fly past the last bird, whales surge beyond the end of all things. They ran out of time long ago. Now they run out of space. Extinction gets them all. Leaving only us, faces pressed flat against the glass, schedules half open at our wrists, straining to move through walls, and drag history with us.




Robert Priest is the author of seventeen books of poetry. His words have been debated in the legislature, posted in the Transit system, quoted in the Farmer's Almanac, turned into a hit song and sung on Sesame street. His latest recording of songs and poems BAAM! is available on Spotify, YouTube and iTunes. robertpriest.org


Preemptive Eulogy for a Student Car


Cale Plett




You were born on the wrong side of history, but more importantly,
the wrong side of Y2K. Before your day, land yachts roamed
the road. Our greatest predators, iron bones. James Dean and Jay
Gatsby died and lived the American dream, roll the credits, play Bruce
Springsteen. Glory Days is a tragedy of realizing ashes to ashes 

too late. There was nothing a little green car like you could change
by the time you whined out the factory gates. The glowing leaf
on your dashboard was token reassurance that you were something
entirely different than the luxury sedans of past and present. Nobody
my age can afford those now. My great grandpa never knew you, 

but he anticipated your kind. Every time a sports car purred by
he’d slap his thigh and say, that car could pass anything but
a gas station. That wasn’t your problem. Your check engine light
was always there, invisible below the surface, lemon regret at any
moment. I dreaded it. We met when I was eighteen, back when you 

were the cutest car I’d ever seen. You were least like a machine,
which appealed to me. You let me forget that all beings take and give.
Four-cylinder engines run on the same blood pouring through black arteries
crossing my hometown prairies. The number after the V is both
status symbol and potential, but all I needed you to be was something 

which could carry me from the country to the city so I didn’t
suffocate. We ran together, and whenever I couldn’t breathe, we’d go
west to the mountains, east to the lakes, someplace without powerlines
showcasing exercises in perspective. With you, the only direction I
knew was away. You’d already been totaled and badly repaired by 

someone else, with scars that grew from the inside out as you facilitated
my summertime freedom while we killed the places I needed and believed
in. All of this is why I loved you. All of this is why I never gave you
a name. I thought when our time was through I could pretend
none of it had hurt as I laid you, anonymous, in the toxic dirt. 



Cale Plett (he/they) is a nonbinary writer who lives in Winnipeg, where they are watching and listening for stories. Some they remember, some they forget, and some they turn into poetry, prose, and lyrics. Cale’s poetry and fiction are published in Grain, CV2, The Anti-Languorous Project, and Riddle Fence.



Matthew Lovegrove



On the night of the election
I dreamt the president stepped
from the white house
with a civil war musket
trained at reporters
who were taken aback
but not surprised
the leader of the free world
was brandishing an antiquarian firearm
and calmly walking towards a helicopter
mouth shut, ready to take flight
until his bodyguards tackled
him to the ground
and the gun never went off once.




Matthew Lovegrove lives in the traditional, unceded territory of the Skwxwú7mesh and shíshálh Nations, works as a Curator in a small-town museum, and has released a series of folk albums under the name woodland telegraph.


Train : a journal of social distance

Issue #10 : Kim Fahner Joel Robert Ferguson Patrick Grace Dan MacIsaac Jeff Parent Cale Plett

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four issue subscriptions also available
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Kim Fahner lives and writes in Sudbury, Ontario. She was the fourth poet laureate of Sudbury (2016-18), and was the first woman appointed to the role. Kim's latest book of poems is These Wings (Pedlar Press, 2019). She is a member of the League of Canadian Poets, as well as a supporting member of the Playwrights' Guild of Canada. Currently, she is Ontario representative for the Writers' Union of Canada. Kim has recently had poems published in Room, Riddle Fence, and Prairie Fire. She may be reached via her author website at www.kimfahner.com

Joel Robert Ferguson is the author of The Lost Cafeteria (2020, Signature Editions) and holds a Masters in Creative Writing from Concordia University in Montreal. His poetry has appeared in numerous publications including Arc, The Columbia Review, The Honest Ulsterman, The Malahat Review, Orbis, and Southword Journal. He lives in Winnipeg, Treaty 1 territory, with his partner and their three cats.

Patrick Grace is a queer writer from Vancouver. His work has been published in Canadian journals such as Prairie Fire, EVENT, Arc Poetry Magazine, and recently, Grain’s Queer Writers issue. His poetry has been longlisted for CV2’s Young Buck Poetry Prize and twice for PRISM international’s Pacific Spirit Poetry Prize, and his poem “A Violence” won The Malahat Review’s Open Season Award for poetry in 2020. He is the managing editor of Plenitude Magazine.

Dan MacIsaac served for ten years as a director on UVIC’s Environmental Law Centre board. Brick Books published his collection of poetry, Cries from the Ark. His poetry has been published in a wide variety of literary magazines, including filling station, Stand, The Malahat Review, and Arc. Dan MacIsaac’s work has been short-listed for the Walrus Poetry Prize and the CBC Short Story Prize. His website is www.danmacisaac.com. 

Jeff Parent is a poet and stay-home dad from Québec’s Eastern Townships. He has an MA in Creative Writing and English Literature from Concordia University and his poems have been published by The Fiddlehead, Montréal Writes, The/tƐmz/Review, FreeFall Magazine, Shrapnel Magazine, and The Quarantine Review amongst others. Jeffs first chapbook, This Bygone Route, is now available from 845 Press.

Cale Plett (he/they) is a nonbinary writer who lives in Winnipeg, where they are watching and listening for stories. Some they remember, some they forget, and some they turn into poetry, prose, and lyrics. Cale’s poetry and fiction are published in Grain, CV2, The Anti-Languorous Project, and Riddle Fence.