Creative Writing


Remember Your Roots

These petty ego negotiations Like small weeds blowing in the wind At the base of my thick wooden trunk They are nothing to me Nothing compared to My roots goin...

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A Good Moose Story

In the days growing up in Port Arthur, as it turned itself into Thunder Bay, I did lots of camping. This is in the middle of North-Western Ontario and camping ...

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Sometimes

Sometimes the paper writes it for me. Sometimes the music plays itself. Sometimes my dreams are the way I choose to speak. Sometimes I listen to myself. Somet...

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The Millennial Haikus: Scene VII

The tattooed girl sits with bare feet on the carpet. Does her heart still work? *** Newspapers, coffee, she groans at the sight of them, he left his boxer sh...

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To My Mom

To my mom, Jennet Sandler, also human, also woman, also artist, also friend, also partner, also wife, also sister, also daughter, also caretaker, also homemake...

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Big Birthdays and Closed Borders

In many places over the years, I have come across the following mantra: “I am strong because a strong woman raised me.” And when I think of the person I am tod...

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Old Ports

A perpetual moment sinks into my draw, it stirs about my head in a lukewarm whiff. It waits in a blurred and naked ken of birth-marked film, spilled canopy of ...

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Saying No to Things

Swipe Holograms for affection Meditation as a medium For putting my phone down Never lasts Underperforming Digital confession Instapoetics of affirmation Brea...

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a wash

a wash or self-portrait as amateur poet, amateur catherinette the sky looks the same as the last time i fell in love the last time this city was mine as i tu...

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