Writings

The intravenous drips, whispering life back into you with its moist breath. Coaxing you drop by drop to re-hydrate. Imploring your depleted spirit to respond reach out and suck the bag dry. Who says machines don’t have a soul? Rosanna Micelotta Battigelli is an alumna of the Humber School for Writers. Her novel La Brigantessa (Inanna Publications, 2018) won Gold for Historical Fiction in the 2019 IPPY Awards, and was a Finalist for the 2019 Canadian Authors Association Fred Kerner Book Award and the 2019 Northern Lit Award. Rosanna is…

The elderly woman on the bus sitting beside her husband looks like my grandmother: her eyes, the high cheekbones, the restrained smile; her chignon is white with traces of faded blonde— My grandmother’s bun was white too, coiled and braided, once black or dark brown— the submissive wife of a Sicilian paterfamilias, Don Carmelo slept with a knife under his pillow at night— he'd kill her if— she looked at herself in the mirror— for she was looking at her reflection for another man, his secret eyes upon her. Dare…

In January 2020, during the early planning of our Special Spring Print Issue, where this editorial also appears, we could…

It’s a well known fact that the afterlife is run by Italians. Consequently, the menus of Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise…

“T’avia sarbàtu du aranci. Mah…” says Zia Carmela. I saved you the last of the oranges. But… She sighs. I…

SAPLING Sunday mornings, Mom attends mass at St. Ambrose Church while Dad takes me to High Park where I play…

“Since the house is on fire, let us warm ourselves.” (Italian proverb)   Monday, 9 a.m. Not writing. Dim, dreary…