by Claire Sicherman
The wing of a gull, the expanse of the Salish Sea, nose tingles with the briny smell of seaweed, a line of dried salt crust up my leg, the way the sun sparkles a quick staccato on water,
by Angela Rebrec
What would it feel like to be a bird, mom?
Would I be scared so high up in the trees?
Now that you’re ten, we come to our forest
by Brandi Bird
The coastline cracking on the back of the beach and the sun reflected off False Creek all lost in the homecoming of water.
Read Moreby Duc Nguyen
Down by the well
in the tribe of Westies
is a pack of wolves
who have filled their mouths
with laugh and joy.