The Storyteller

Two children picked their way down the curve of a beach, in the clear air that follows a storm. The cyclone had strewn junk across their path...

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Flash Fiction and Nonfiction Contest

Submit a fiction or nonfiction story of between 300 and 1000 words for your chance to win! The winner will receive $250 CAD and 2 print copies of the Dreamers magazine.

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in the two hour sunset

in the two hour sunset after the eight hour evening I become a goop puddle in your passenger seat. you play that song and I don’t know which words are coming next.

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Metaplasia and other poems

Some human cells adapt to toxic stress by physically becoming other cells. Smoke enough, and tall columns become flat lung lines. Turn 16, and girl lining becomes home-in-waiting. The word for this is metaplasia. It is supposed to be temporary.

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Landscape of Freckles

I am borne of a landscape of freckles. My mother, her father, his mother: the Williams and Shepherds, the English and Welsh. The bounty of peach farms, peace roses and quiet spirituality.

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This poem was once a bird

This poem was once a bird | An eagle in fact | Whose span of wing | And accurate sight | Was the stuff that legend makes.

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Announcing the Dreamers Writing Farm

At the Dreamers Writing Farm, we'll be offering writing retreats, self-directed residencies, writing workshops, and general accommodations.

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Community Garden

I’m holding your drawing. It’s more of a map, really, a magic-marker rendering of your family’s redesign. Embellished stick figures rise...

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Because the Sparrows

Common as pennies, they mob the feeder, empty it in a day— nothing left for finches, wrens, chickadees— birds from the genus Passeridae, meaning flutterer.

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After Birth

These poems, (Siblings, Digging, and Reflection,) are a representation of some of the intense emotions I’ve experienced over the past few years, following the stillbirth of our first daughter, Braylie.

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Stay With Me

They say that life has a way of giving you exactly what you need when you least expect it. That when one life ends, another is born.

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Semi Colon

There are days, sometimes weeks, when you don’t even think about it. Then, one day, in front of the bathroom mirror, you face the glaring reminders. Three scars.

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Rhythm

“Wake up! Michael’s stopped breathing. We gotta go.” The voice seems familiar, perhaps a childhood playmate’s. I cling to sleep...

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Layered Poetry in heft by Doyali Islam

I dream seafloor shells, bones / stirring in walls: forgotten, lithified / things buzzing, buzzing beneath a drone’s wings.

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I Can’t Even Get to Hell

After the first of my many cousins died from cancer, the extended family started getting together every August to picnic in Westchester County, New York.

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Inside a Ring of Owls

Last night we stood outside and all around us the owls were calling to each other. It felt like a perfect circle and we were standing in the middle.

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kindled

This morning, my body unfurls from sleep, soft sheets teasing bare breasts, groin thrumming. Outside my window, a goldfinch whistles and warbles. I laugh aloud. There are miracles in the garden...

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Of Shoes, Feet, and Legs

My mother had great legs. She passed them on; Nora has them now. Her shoes were small and wide, like her feet—European feet. She had so many shoes.

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