It was the kind of neighbourhood where boys jumped out of second-storey windows onto hay. When kids biked by after dark, grandpas smiled from saggy porches, wearing gingham pajamas and cradling their pet goats. All that rumbling afternoon in the culvert, between kisses Ned and I laughed like we were goners. Across the creek, with their street signs and plastic lawn edging, they thought they were so fancy. But Ned and I know our ditch had the prettiest wildflowers you’ll ever see.
The image above is used as illustration. This story was written in response to Haven, by Nicolas Martin. Click here to view.
Angeline Schellenberg is the author of the Manitoba Book Award-winning Tell Them It Was Mozart (Brick Books, 2016), the KOBZAR Book Award-nominated Fields of Light and Stone (University of Alberta Press, 2020), and Mondegreen Riffs (At Bay Press, forthcoming 2024). Her microfictions have appeared in Grey Sparrow Journal, SoFloPoJo, The Drabble, and Exposition Review, among others. Angeline hosts Speaking Crow—Winnipeg’s longest-running poetry open mic. She practices contemplative spiritual direction on Treaty 1 territory in Canada. angelineschellenberg.wordpress.com
The Ekphrastic Review
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