excerpt from "Singularity Packet"
by Tanis MacDonald

Ancestors, I know I’m hard to hear but raise your ear trumpets. I’m your diverted canal of a cold river running north, and I have been kicking up without a current for decades. I’m a train engine stoked with extra coal to deepen the colour of my steam. I don’t make the mistake of thinking I am interesting, or at least I don’t make it often.

 

 

 

From The Malahat Review's spring issue #230