Creative Non-Fiction Category

My Father’s Hands (nonfiction)

In my memory, my father’s hands are large. His sturdy fingers, the columns that hold up the Parthenon roof, the pillars that secure the world on the turtle’s back, that hold me as I swing between him and my mother when we walk down the street together. His palms span wide enough to encompass mine, […]

Read More

Climbing trees

Mulberry trees stand in two corners of my mother’s garden. In summer, the garden becomes a minefield littered with incendiary devices waiting for a mistimed step, a careless footfall. Splatters of pink-purple cover the driveway, the outlines of shoes and bare feet silhouetted on the concrete. Though resplendent with their purple jewels every year, their […]

Read More

Djeran

When the ants become active.

Read More

Run through the jungle

Betrayal is a frightening jungle where monsters of self-doubt lurk.

Read More

Roots

A golden thread runs between my mother’s garden and mine. Earth beneath fingernails carries legacy and heritage.

Read More

The conversion of cat people

There hadn’t been a dog in our family in my living memory. When I was a baby, there was Johnny – a pure bred bitser[1], a beast of the most patchwork genealogy possible, a hotchpotch of canine genetics that tested the limits of hybrid vigour. But he was a myth, a legend, a story drawn from […]

Read More

Maintain the rage

“We’re tired,” he said. “We’ve faced 30 metre walls of flame. Seen fire skip breaks, hop highways, leap rivers.” “We tried to warn you,” they said. “A year ago. More.” ‘Unprecedented’, the lone beacon among weasel words that shift the blame. Will outrage stay lit another two years? Image credit: Image by Daniel Zuflucht from Pixabay

Read More

Aussie chick

“Good morning!” The man hailing me adjusted his hearing aid with one hand and waved with the other. His neatly pressed shorts stood to stiff attention around his thin legs — more a cordon than clothing. His short-sleeved shirt and sturdy leather sandals completed the image of a man who took pride in his appearance […]

Read More

The Petite Grief of Rejection Emails

Yet another rejection email has hit my inbox. Yet another chip has been eroded from my soul. I don’t know how rejections affect everyone else, but I assume it’s similar. There’s a level of deeply intimate, deeply personal critique in the sharp hidden edges of an email thanking me for my work, noting the large […]

Read More

Morning walk

Dear Walking Group Women, I see you, my siblings, and I ignore you. Namaste. Or Peace Be With You. Or May the Odds be Ever in Your Favour. Or whatever version of in-tune, en pointe (on point? On pointe? On-ee point-ee?), in-the-moment greeting du jour holds currency right now. And yes, I did roll my […]

Read More