I’m so thrilled to be part of The Polyglot, a group of writers dedicated to celebrating multi-language writing. Honoured to have my poem Being As Matryoshka posted in their new Pensieri blog.
Category: Reblogged
Zoom Saloon Prompts
Hey, friends. Thanks to all who came out to the Zoom Saloon with Robert Okaji. As promised there, here’s our ghazal exchange and the invitation to respond in verse via the comment section here (or on his site). If you weren’t able to tune in today, and yet feel inspired to versify, please do. In…
Want to join a Book Club?
It’s my great honour that Humane(2020,Stonehouse Publishing, first of the Amiskwaciy novels) has been chosen for the Literary Press Group of Canada’s Summer Book Club. Read all about it! https://alllitup.ca/Blog/2023/ALU-Summer-Book-Club-Interview-with-Anna-Marie-Sewell
Letter to Bob by mustang from my town
I wanna live on your street, Bob. Mind you, my such street is a whole village filled, not with envy and the boredom of blocked horizons, but with a sweet reciprocating danger line between us and the moose and the bears – so much for you, so much for me, and that traveling salesman of…
Saint Behind the Glass
Here’s a lyrical meditation from NYC author Elizabeth Frank, whose latest novel arrives from Stonehouse Press in November. Elizabeth Frank
As If We Believe in the Light
Seems a good moment to remind ourselves of renewal, as Edmonton enters that scruffy moment before Winter slouches off an makes way for Spring. April is ugly in April in Edmonton but swans ripple high overhead and we lift up our eyes to their arrows as if we believe in warm wind it…
Worm Medicine Boogie!
A little meditation on dealing with life, and remembering to dance! If you like disco, if you like gardening, if you want to dance in your kitchen – for you! Originally posted in 2018.
A Mustang for Bob: Self-Portrait as Compost
Originally posted on O at the Edges:
Self-Portrait as Compost Beneath the surface find warmth, the fruit of decay and mastication, of layered mixes and intermingled juices. Disintegrated or whole, still I strive to speak. Bits of me meld, to be absorbed slowly; I process and am processed: here, within the pepper bush’s deep…
Firewood
Originally posted on O at the Edges:
? Firewood For two years the oak loomed, leafless. We had aged together, but somehow I survived the drought and ice storms, the regret and wilt, the explosions within, and it did not. I do not know the rituals of trees, how they mourn a passing, or…
Prairiepomes 