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a literary journal of canada's north

northword: A Literary Journal Of Canada’s North

cover artwork — keenu the catfish (original 33"x 39") by Brenda Carter Every fabric collage begins with a story.

This catfish fabric collage quilt stems from a photo taken of our precious cat Keenu.

Keenu has since passed away living into his 18th year of age. He was truly a treasure and forever dear to our hearts.

I wanted to honour Keenu in a way that would present how much he meant to me and family showing a lot of joy, colour and whimsy. Keenu was my ‘supervisor’

watching everything I did collaging, sewing, jumping up my back and bracing on

my shoulders when washing dishes…just about everything! He was with us during

the Fort McMurray wildfire, flood and when I was battling brain cancer. The impact Keenu left on me and my husband Cal holds to this day. Keenu is pretty special.

the fall (isn't there supposed to be a wall)

screaming thoughts

by Veronica Ephgrave

by Genvieve Tokarz

volume 6 | issue 4

contents

northern canada collective society for writers

cover artist statement

Brenda Carter

the fall (isn't there supposed to be a wall)

Veronica Ephgrave

screaming thoughts

Genvieve Tokarz

editorial

Anna Pottie

cc: department of abundance

Stacey Grant

a matter of perspective

Robert Murray

a room with a view

Marty Rempel

hypnogogia

Michaela Bryn Harkington

mrs. misses

Jess Rotar

community engagement coordinator Shaylean Gladu

the spring that refused

Nicole Cormier

e-mail northwordmagazine@gmail.com

nonsense

Zach Wood

ephemeral truths

Barbara Madden

web www.northwordmagazine.com

fly bird. fly.

Graeme Tennant

cabouchon eyes

Kaeley St. Peter

it makes no sense

Sundas Shamshad

opinion: fort mac needs an innovative, two-tier drive thru system

Cullen Bird

castle of consequences

Jennifer Vardy

may 3rd words

Meghan Whitmore

seven

Emma Kate Sherratt

smile

Ana Manderson

managing editor Jane Jacques

yo-yo yule yowza

Stacey Grant

president emerita Jennifer Hemstock

four cars back at the car wash blues

Marty Rempel

surreal reality

Marty Rempel

why with its nonsense

Rebecca Corcoran

bitter sweet

Marty Rempel

on being here sometimes

Rebecca Corcoran

the house i haven't built

Stacey Grant

x-book-a-gram-tube-tok

Will Collins

marginalia

Douglas Abel

contributors

fly me to the moon

Sandy Canuel

wonderment

Anastasia Miecholas

balderdash

Veronica Ephgrave

president Dawn Booth treasurer Sundas Shamshad secretary Barbara Madden communications coordinators Gwenna Cochrane Halinda Anna Pottie

This Issue: Volume 6, Number 4 Spring 2026 Issue 34 Theme: Nonsense cover Brenda Carter design & layout Rachel White-Murray issue editor Anna Pottie

Proudly published in Fort McMurray, Alberta, Canada 56°44’N | 111°07’W

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northword: A Literary Journal Of Canada’s North

editorial Nonsense. Depending on the context, the word nonsense is always defined the same but can have different meanings. In other words, depending on the context, a word can carry different meanings even though its definition remains the same. In those same words but mixed around a little, a word's definition stays the same, but its meaning can vary depending on the context. This is true of a lot of words, you could say. And you’d be right if you said it. Linguists call this polysemy—a single word having multiple related senses. I’m fairly certain that doesn’t include taste, touch, smell or sight; however, you might be able to hear it if someone were to say the word aloud. If you were far away, they’d have to shout! If there were any sort of breeze, it might carry the message away. Hopefully, it wasn’t anything important. Anyways, context usually tells us which sense is intended. Some words are even more context-dependent than nonsense. Like bank… or light! But we’re talking about nonsense right now, if you don’t mind, because I chose it as the theme for this issue and I’m currently buying time to think of a really profound reason for doing so. That said, it's not quite accurate to say that a word is always defined the same but can have different meanings. Dictionaries typically list multiple definitions for many words precisely because they have multiple established meanings. (Personally, I think someone was slacking on their job and created too many meanings and not enough words to go around.) A more precise statement might be: a word often has a stable core meaning, but its specific sense or interpretation can vary depending on context. For nonsense, the various uses are closely related enough that many people would feel there's a common underlying idea running through all of them. Conveniently, this is precisely why it makes a good theme.

Anna Pottie | issue thirty-four editor

volume 6 | issue 4

cc: department of abundance stacey grant

The Queen arrives with paperwork folded under her silver wings: Petitions, ink-smudged, for weather, housing, and fieldwork. Simple.

The clerk reaches up, stamping the sky —

“CONDITIONALLY AVAILABLE STATUS” A scream screeches

from the street outside;

a dandelion has erupted from the sidewalk, baring its teeth at passersby.

The workers rush by,

dispatching it quickly —

“MANDATORY APPLAUSE DETECTED” The Queen smooths her dress, striped black and gold,

tapping her toes, impatiently awaiting her flight permit. Business number. Registration.

The clients in line,

submit complaints —

“GROCERY COST INCREASE”

a matter of perspective robert murray

In a first world of problems

And chatter about working life

This is the corporate world’s problem

My issues with Microsoft Office are rife Whether it’s Copilot or Sway It’s a fight to survive

We’ve reached our Power (breaking) Point I would deny it a high five Teams reactions bring joy

Messages keep you in the know

Where oh where did that OneDrive file go? Endless notifications

Update that, upgrade this

The Outlook is not promising May we escape this abyss But still we trudge

Through Sharepoint and Excel

Accepting invites and collabing Until into our coffins we delve

But there’s bigger issues at hand War, famine, and drought I’ll keep my finger ready For the next Office bout

Abundance is written in triplicate. Everything else is pending.

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northword: A Literary Journal Of Canada’s North

a room with a view marty rempel

I love our present house. It’s in a very quiet, no-nonsense

Alberta travelling the ice roads and working with the Cree

My house is situated on a ridge between two parallel streets

observations with some neighbours…

kind of neighbourhood where nothing much ever happens. that seem to go nowhere. Being on a hill, we have an excellent view of our neighbourhood, or the kingdom, as I prefer to call it. From the top of the hill, in the back yard, I can sit in our cozy pergola and actually look out over our roof top

“Hey Bart, weren’t those Northern lights spectacular last night?” There was no collaboration or confirmation only odd stares and stunned silence.

to the world beyond and relax and dream, that is before the

Naturally, when several months later, also about three in the

over before I have to surrender my territory.

on my street I said absolutely nothing. I didn’t even post

leaves grow in to ruin the view and the mosquitoes take From my perch I have an expansive view of our street. I can see the people walking their dogs or their kids. I see the fast walkers, joggers and runners. One girl even does laps of the

block walking backwards. I have no idea why. The height

and perspective definitively afford me a sense of power, control and perspective. I love to observe.

From inside the house, on most days, during mosquito season, and during the winter months, I can sit at the

kitchen island and look out from on high. From there I view the wildlife that passes, the squirrels that annoy and feed

on the bird seed I leave for the cardinals, chickadees and all those who are deserving of the seed.

Early morning, I can be found at my stool, at the island, looking out and looking down in a trance-like state at whatever moves as I sip my morning coffee in a coma-like state.

I have had some more unique and unusual sightings as

well, other than the morning I found a fox sleeping on the

welcome mat at my front door. Late at night, or early morning, while quietly, in a meditative state, drinking my herbal tea, I especially revel in the spectacular view of the North-

ern Lights dancing in green splendour across the night sky.

morning, I saw the herd of migratory buffalo come through any of the pictures, or video clips I had taken to document the event, to social media. I sensed the high level of doubt

and skepticism I would likely receive and proceeded to keep a low profile about my observations and encounters.

Having seen the buffalo, I was certain there would be more

intriguing sightings in the near future. I wasn’t wrong. The night the Cessna made the emergency landing on my

street, I guess just after the buffalo incident, I was no longer totally surprised. I went out and chatted with the pilot for

a few minutes and helped him fuel up with some high octane I had stored in my garage, even though it was not 100 percent aviation-gas. He didn’t seem to be picky.

His take off, other than snagging a few branches from the

crab apple trees growing in the median, was quite routine. It's not like you see a plane land on your street every night.

It was actually about another three months until the next

plane, a Twin Otter, made a similar emergency landing. Really for a quiet street that leads nowhere I was getting

more aviation action than statistically expected. I mean

what are the odds of two landings in just a few months of each other?

At first, I found the spectacle to be very odd considering my

Sitting at my kitchen island early mornings, late evenings,

north latitude. The northern lights are typically located

expect next. I still have no idea why the Tour de France

house is located in Southern Ontario, at about 43 degrees much further north, like in Fort McMurray, Anchorage, or parts of Siberia.

The lights reminded me of my time spent in Northern 4

and Dene in Fort Chipewyan. However, when I shared my

took on a new air of anticipation as I never knew what to cyclists came through when they did. But they were cer-

tainly worth the watch. First, the support vans and police car, with flashing lights, came through, followed next by a

few of the lead riders. The pack came about a minute later,

volume 6 | issue 4

followed by several of the stragglers over the next several

However, when March 17th rolled around and the tumul-

summer in Glasgow, Scotland. I really appreciated the fact

thought there had been a breakthrough. That event made

minutes. I had seen a similar World Cup event the previous that this time the event was so close to home. For a better view of the racing bikers, I went out to the street to cheer the riders on. It was an exciting event.

The next morning, other than a few water bottles strewn about, there was no real evidence that there had even been

a race. Oddly, as I searched, I found no mention of the race in

tuous 3 a.m. St Patrick’s Day parade marched through, I more of a stir in my neighbourhood. Some neighbours had

their kitchen lights on likely because of the commotion cre-

ated by the large number of floats pulled by massive diesel trucks and the exorbitant number of university students

who lined the road on both sides, all in drinking mode, cheering each float as it passed.

the media. As per usual I kept my mouth shut on the topic.

I knew for certain the clandestine nature of my nights

the bison herds, that they had witnessed not a single bike. I

garbage bags picking up the red beer containers, green

My crazy neighbours would likely deny, as they did with was beginning to doubt their reliability.

I never understood why any of these activities never woke

the neighbours, especially on the night the formula cars

roared through. There must have been at least twenty high

was likely over. I was out the next day with several black

streamers and other paraphernalia from the parade. Brian

was cleaning his own yard this time, but he was so intense

he refused to look up and make eye contact, or even speak, a clear case of denial.

revving cars, but since our street is short, and as I said leads

More recently, one neighbour, not Brian, asked me to listen

they had to set up the Formula pit in front of my garden

been documented in Arizona. It seemed very far-fetched

to nowhere, the cars were moving relatively slowly. Why always baffled me.

It was amazing, the precision with which they could change a set of tires, fuel a car, check the engine vitals and

send it off down my street with such super high acceleration. The noise and speeds were astounding. I was in awe and spilt my ginger peach tea as I rushed to the window to get a better view.

In the morning, as with the Tour de France, other than the numerous dark tire marks on the road, I had only some

minor clean-up. I raked the garden and put kitty litter over a few minor oil spills. All and all, not too bad.

My neighbour Brian asked me, “What’s with all the kitty litter?”

“’I’m just covering up some of the oil spills from the Formula race last night. They set the pit up here by my garden.”

to a podcast about extra-terrestrials who landed and had to me at the time, but after what I have seen on my own

street before my very own eyes, and since he seems to really believe this stuff I had agreed to give it a listen. I mean who was I to judge? Secretly, I was hoping that aliens of some description would be my own next street sighting.

Perhaps, during the listening of the podcast I could break the ice and slip in something about Northern Lights, buffalo herds, emergency airplane landings, Tour de France and

Formula races on my street, or wild parades, although judg-

ing by my other neighbours’ responses so far, I doubt if I’d have an audience.

I understand now I have secrets I must live with, but in the

meantime I have never enjoyed my after-midnight herbal

teas and my well-positioned kitchen window quite so much. Should we ever sell our house, I can market it as a house having a “room with a view”.

Brian looked at me for a long moment, then at the kitty litter,

Although I have to confess I may wish not to ever sell

backed away. Again I decided why discuss the obvious with

through last night was nothing short of amazing. Cleaning

smiled and wishing me a good day, he slowly, nervously the neighbours. They are clearly snobbish about these nocturnal events. I returned to my vow of silence.

because I have to say the raucous circus parade that went up after the elephants not so much!

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northword: A Literary Journal Of Canada’s North

hypnogogia

michaela bryn harkington Hypnogogia

Phantasmata

Psychedelic mental film reel There are corals In the corner

Of the walls of your bedroom Multicoloured mycelium Fungi blooming

Til they burst through your pillowcase Kaleidoscopic scales

And glittering bubbles

From the goldfish swimming inside your alarm clock Softly crackling

Dream projector

Don't get out of bed just yet.

mrs. misses jess rotar

Silly little Misses

Do you think it’s your well wishes That got him to where he is Once his hands let go of

The rope you strung him on from

Turns out he had wings and he could fly! Look at you so righteous

Ask the universe to hide this Your woe is me Always be

So off beat Poetry

volume 6 | issue 4

the spring that refused nicole cormier

There are strange things done in the northern sun by the folks who keep saying it’s May;

They plant their seeds in the frozen seams Then shovel them back away.

They barbecue mittens and marinate spoons, hang wet icicles out to dry,

they argue with clouds in the afternoon, ’cause the weatherman never tells a lie.

Like a much-loved guest, Winter is at its best, never knowing quite when to go—

and Spring, with a grin, keeps inviting it in to bury the month in snow.

nonsense zach wood

Trusting in others is Loving another is

Letting your guard down is Hope is

Nonsense

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northword: A Literary Journal Of Canada’s North

ephemeral truths barbara madden

It was a time of gentlemen scientists Of endless cataloguing Long slim

pearl tipped pins

skewered specimens

in shadowy boxed displays Anomalies were everywhere Some creatures were too illusory to catch Ambling about in his tights and doublet Ullise Androvandi observed the world

adding to his spectacular collection of curiosities Long ago

some of his creatures were truly observed Over time

his need to collect surpassed

his small world of observable habitat He began to conjure and speculate His collection diversified

His opinion was sought on all things natural So when she whispered in his ear

via the rustling leaves and soft breeze Although he caught only a glimpse far off in his peripheral vision

He did his best to capture her image part bird

part woman He chuckled as he drew She smiles too

Artist’s Note: The writing on the image is expected to be too small to be legible to the naked eye …

which may be considered another layer of nonsense. 8

ephemeral truths by Barbara Madden

volume 6 | issue 4

fly bird. fly. graeme tennant

I’ve always been jealous of birds. Being able to fly and all. Aren’t you?

No more bills, boring commutes or bus creeps.

Slack-jawed, 1000 mile staring man-spreaders. Just clear your mind. Breath in. Exhale.

Then leave your problems and

tongue biting memories you would rather forget behind you.

Bubble gum scraped off the heel of your shoe. Swimming on gusts of wind.

Taste a freedom you won’t find on the 401.

cabouchon eyes kaeley st. peter

Swirl it around in your mouth,

Immaculate skin

But,

Baroque carved brow

let it sit on the back of your tongue. I’ve also seen birds eat puke. Hey bird brain! Don’t eat that! Nasty.

Shades of bone and snow Audacious inky tufts Hibiscus lips

Honeyed with maraschino glaze Origami cheekbones

Of buttercream and varnish Bouncing tresses

Embroidered into the crown A gilded framework

Kissed by pins of fleeting magic And those Cabouchon eyes

Gooey spheres of death and light Blink. Blink. Stare

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northword: A Literary Journal Of Canada’s North

it makes no sense sundas shamshad They said it was cells—

I learned that strength

like saying a storm is only rain.

it’s showing up

just cells— I nodded,

because what else do you do when language shrinks and your life becomes

a hallway of beeping machines

and plastic bracelets that know your name better than you do? I lost time somewhere

between diagnosis and denial— it slipped under a hospital bed, rolled away with the IV stand, hid inside the word “benign”

that refused to belong to me. My body became a stranger with familiar scars—

a map I didn’t remember drawing, roads closing,

detours through fatigue, People spoke in soft voices,

as if I had already begun to disappear. But I was loud inside—

a thunderstorm of questions no one could translate.

Why does survival taste like metal? Why does hope come in doses measured in milligrams?

Why does healing feel like breaking first? I learned to count things differently: not years, but good days.

Not victories, but breaths that didn’t hurt.

is not a roar—

When your bones are tired of carrying you. And somehow—

through the chaos,

through the absurdity

of fighting your own body— I found pieces of myself hidden in the mess. Not the old me. No.

Someone quieter, sharper,

stitched together with resilience

and a stubborn refusal to vanish. So if this is nonsense

this pain, this healing, this becoming Then let it be.

Because in the middle of it all,

in the strangest, most senseless moments, I am still here.

While so many have lost And that,

more than anything,

makes no sense at all.

volume 6 | issue 4

opinion: fort mac needs an innovative, two-tier drive thru system cullen bird By Tim Bytes What if our daily drive thru experience could be better, faster, more innovative?

We’ve all had that same frustrating experience; sitting behind the wheel at a congested drive thru, locked in a long spiral of idling trucks moving at glacial speed. We can do better. Instead of one long line of vehicles at the local Tim Hortons, why not go for a double-double? TWO drive thru lanes, and a two-storey building!

Time is precious; we should be able to choose the level of service we get at the drive-thru.

Pay a small fee and sign a legal waiver, and you could enter the express lane. Follow this lane up a concrete ramp to the second level, and you can treat yourself to a

higher standard of fast-food delivery in drive-thru paradise.

Staff on this “VIP” floor would be instructed to treat your fast-food order with the urgency of a NASCAR pit crew

replacing tires mid-race. As customers, we deserve the

thrill of seeing workers deliver excellent service at frantic speed.

This system rewards exemplary workers, with bonuses paid out to any staff who achieve perfect customer service scores over a one-year period.

Beyond adding another lane, some more drastic meas-

ures are needed. We need a true focus on serving

motorists, and especially pick-up truck drivers, who rep-

resent the pinnacle of Fort McMurray’s transit hierarchy.

This means scrapping outdated relics like the pedestrian service counter, and the pedestrian customer.

It’s just common sense. Remove the ground-level doors from the drive-thru building and you eliminate all headaches caused by walk-in customers. Staff would only be able to access the building through the drive-thru service windows.

Think of it; no more sudden stops for unplanned pedestrian crossings! No more near-misses when someone sticks their head in front of your grille!

But we can’t stop there. Modern times demand that we push ourselves to maximum efficiency.

Creative use of AI-powered service tools will maximize

the drive-thru experience for everyday customers. A

“Little Horty” AI assistant would give you faster service

than any human. A new camera system and state-ofthe-art facial recognition software would track your

behaviour and emotions when ordering, compiling a

personalized database that the Little Horty AI can use to give you a truly comprehensive customer experience.

You might be wondering at this point – what about the standard lane, the economy tier?

Don’t worry! Economy tier customers will benefit most of all from the innovative use of powerful AI systems, as

they will be exclusively served by Little Horty. Other effi-

ciencies and standard set by the VIP drive-thru system are certain to trickle down to the economy tier.

Embrace the double-double drive-thru system. It’s the commonsense evolution we need.

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northword: A Literary Journal Of Canada’s North

castle of consequences jennifer vardy

My pre-planned and beautifully curated regime

has become the structural walls that hold up my life.

It’s my castle of predictability surrounded by a moat of flow charts and safety guarded by calendar invites.

It’s safe. It’s secure. I like it here. No room for nonsense. My friends wave as they walk past.

“Come join us! They say as they aimlessly stumble upon unplanned adventures. Now? I can’t. Tomorrow? Busy.

“Maybe next month we can”…… but they are already gone.

I turn and watch as my curated castle slowly mutates into a prison. My structured walls have started to close in.

I go to leave and discover commitments have shackled me at the feet. The moat has begun to fill the room.

I am gasping for air as I drown in deadlines. It’s safe. It’s secure. It gets lonely here. But how do I plan for novelty? I can’t.

That’s just nonsense.

Highlights from Arts Impact Alberta 2025: Ripple Effects from the Arts Sector Les grandes lignes de L’impact des arts en Alberta 2025 : Effets d’entraînement du secteur des arts

The Arts: Alberta’s $2.4 billion economic engine Les arts : un moteur économique de 2,4 milliards de dollars en Alberta

___

Look inside and discover how enjoying the arts creates jobs, revenue and contributes to Alberta’s prosperity. Découvrez comment, en profitant des arts, vous contribuez à créer des emplois, à générer des revenus et à assurer la prospérité de l’Alberta.

102 communities. 20,245 events. Pure economic impact. The Ripple Effect Every $1 expended by the AFA’s operating clients generates $22.53 in total economic activity.

L’effet d’entraînement Chaque dollar dépensé par les organismes exploitants appuyés par l’AFA génère 22,53 $ en activité économique totale.

A Smart Investment Every $1 invested by the AFA generates a direct economic return of $1.76.

Un investissement judicieux Chaque dollar investi par l’AFA génère un rendement économique direct de 1,76 $.

The Alberta Foundation for the Arts (AFA) is the province’s primary arts funder. But

L’Alberta Foundation for the Arts (AFA) est le principal organisme de financ financer la créativité – nous y investissons, en aliment

102 collectivités. 20 245 événements. Un impact économique réel. The Arts Are for Everyone

488 organizations across 102 Alberta communities received AFA funding between 2018 and 2024.

Des arts pour tous

Entre 2018 et 2024, 488 organismes provenant de 102 collectivités albertaines ont reçu du financement de l’AFA.

Real Jobs for Albertans

The sector sustains an annual average of 930 full-time and 3,300 part-time employees. Every $1 million spent by AFA operating clients creates 195 full-time equivalent jobs.

De vrais emplois pour les Albertaines et les Albertains Chaque année, le secteur des arts soutient en moyenne 930 employés à temps plein et 3 300 à temps partiel. Chaque million de dollars dépensé par les organismes exploitants de l’AFA crée 195 équivalents temps plein.

t we don’t just fund creativity–we invest in it. Fueling a $2.4 billion economic engine.

cement lié au secteur des arts dans la province. Mais nous ne faisons pas que tant un moteur économique de 2,4 milliards de dollars.

38,500+ Volunteers. One Shared Identity. Plus de 38 500 bénévoles. Une identité commune. Not only an economic driver, Alberta arts foster civic participation and community pride. Every year, 38,619 volunteers dedicate their time to AFA-funded arts organizations and their events. Additionally, at last count, paid attendance at AFA-supported events accounted for an incredible 62.3% of Alberta’s total population. The AFA doesn’t just fund the ballet and the opera – whether it’s artists in schools, community choirs or folk music festivals, we fund arts for everyone. Au-delà de son impact économique, le milieu artistique albertain favorise la participation citoyenne et la fierté communautaire. Chaque année, 38 619 bénévoles consacrent de leur temps aux organismes artistiques financés par l’AFA et aux événements qu’ils organisent. De plus, selon les plus récentes données, 62,3 % des Albertaines et Albertains – une proportion impressionnante de la population – ont déboursé pour participer aux événements soutenus par l’AFA. La fondation ne finance pas uniquement le ballet et l’opéra — qu’il s’agisse d’artistes dans les écoles, de chorales communautaires ou de festivals de musique folk, elle finance des projets artistiques accessibles à tous.

Shine a spotlight on the true value of the arts Mettons en lumière la véritable valeur des arts Share these facts with your friends, family, neighbours and leaders to ensure Alberta remains the best place to live, work and create. Partagez ces données avec vos amis, votre famille, vos voisins et vos chefs de file afin de veiller à ce que l’Alberta demeure le meilleur endroit pour vivre, travailler et créer.

Scan the QR code to download the full Arts Impact Alberta 2025 report! Balayez le code QR pour télécharger le rapport complet L’impact des arts en Alberta 2025!

volume 6 | issue 4

Highlights from Arts Impact Alberta 2025: Ripple Effects from the Arts Sector

maygrandes 3rd words Les lignes de L’impact des arts en meghan whitmore Alberta 2025 : Effets d’entraînement I haven’t felt my self du secteur des arts Sometimes I feel like I’m close to giving up I'm struggling to make space to forgive the universe for the unnecessary heartbreak.

The unjust rage growing in my bones to continue to heal from things that weren’t my fault. My sadness makes me hard and cold, the same way the wind burns your face to leave your skin on fire, pulsing with every broken promise of a happy ever after.

If I could I would light a match to the sky and embrace the way the fire crawls along the walls. melts the memories and engulfs hard work.

I want to implode the masked smile I constantly have to paint on my face. Some fucker once

said that you’re only pushed for how strong you are, I’m over being strong I don’t want to be brave. I want to lay in the dark with all of my mistakes.

I want my grief to cover me like salvation and hold me down so I don’t break.

I want my maybes to become forevers growing in the palms of my hands and planted in the family plots.

I want laughter to split me open so every dark part of me can feel what the sun feels like. I want to feel invincible under the delicate weight of your body.

I need small hands to cover eyes and paint pictures of whispers and love.

I need my body to save me, instead of betraying me, round every dark corner there seems to be flickers of lightning trapped in a bottle too far out of my reach.

I want clutter to fill every empty part of my soul so that I’m constantly filling boxes with sweet intentions and information to give away.

I want my synapses to be frozen in time, drunk off dopamine and epinephrine, so much so that my bad days are coated over to seem shiny and brighter than before. But.

I can’t.

The Arts: Alberta’s $2.4 billion economic engine

I never. will.

Les arts : un moteur économique de 2,4 milliards de en Alberta thatdollars gets handed off. Find space too.

Forgive the unnecessary heartbreak.

___

to me.

Like I’m nothing.

Look inside and discover how enjoying the arts creates jobs, revenue never will be. and contributes to Alberta’s prosperity. But… Maybe

Découvrez comment, en profitant des arts, vous contribuez à créer des emplois, à générer des revenus et à assurer la prospérité de l’Alberta. www . northwordmagazine . com

northword: A Literary Journal Of Canada’s North

seven

emma kate sherratt When I was seven

I would crawl around the floor, a lion.

Fearless of the power within parents amused

bones robust from eating my prey (carrots)

I have no memories of this

I don’t remember what happened when I was seven. The moment I realised the aeroplane was just a fork.

The moment my sailboats turned to crunchy brown leaves.

The day I stopped counting on others and started counting everything else. All the tiles and all the edges and all the cracks and all the handles, all of the anything.

all the way until one hundred.

And then I would start again, as long as it equalled something even. Sometimes it was odd.

Some may say that it was.

I would float on the clouds like days were nights while the nights were a daze.

I would float all the way to the moon. Now, I may sink.

I don’t remember when it was

that I got too heavy for the clouds to carry. Maybe, it was when I was seven.

volume 6 | issue 4

smile

ana manderson At night, before bed

I dismantle my face. I unlock, loosen, snap free, and twist off all the catches and ties

that keep my lips upturned and my teeth barred. During the day,

"I am not a threat." I say but don't say.

These are the central incisors of a strong team player.

Please don't hurt me. Please protect me. Please keep me in the group. During the day,

"I am not a liability." I say but don't say.

This is the zygomaticus of a proactive collaborator.

Please accept me. Please trust me. Please keep me safe. The tension in my cheeks feels like a fist. I am not sick. I am not a burden. My teeth are ground into chalk. I am one of you.

yo-yo yule yowza stacey grant

A twizzle, a twirl, a flick-floo-spin-swoosh,

Red yo-yo zips by with a zany wish-woosh.

Up-up it does climb, down-down it does dive, Through glitterfied-glee and a tinsely jive. “Look-look! See-me! Can-can you spy?”

Gigglygirl warbles, pigtails tickle the sky. Stars sparkle-snap back, the icicles ring,

The gingerbread men wiggle-jiggle and swing. Around it does loop in a loopity-lark-zoop,

The yo-yo pirouettes and stirs a peppermint soup. Flip-flap, zip-zap, and wobble-woo-whirl,

Every arc articulating: She’s THE yo-yo girl! “I’ve got skills! I’ve got thrills! I got loops, spins, and spills!”

The holly-red yo-yo ringmaster does sing —

Dancing like sunlight on a sugar-plum string.

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northword: A Literary Journal Of Canada’s North

four cars back at the car wash blues marty rempel

Wonder and surprise, this duplicity comes from the mere simplicity of the

moment and seems most available to the young. Now old, I walk ocean side on secluded beaches during the off season seeking solace. Walking and

slowing the pace of life reveals layers of details never before observed, while

in my other life I looked through binoculars backwards, everything at a dis-

tance. I find that when I am four cars back at the car wash, on a humid day, I suspend my expectations as my life is no longer attached to outcomes. I

observe the fine detail and make sense of the nonsense of life in the moment. The couple in the blue Audi coupe in front of me drop their fast food wrap-

pers and containers on the parking lot. The young girl, with the shapely

figure, with holes in her blue jeans leaves the car suddenly, as if disgusted, abandoning her boy friend in bewilderment with such wonder and surprise.

surreal reality marty rempel

On a summer night I was stalked by a Velveteen Rabbit, with the state I was in it seemed so real.

I walked along the grass and heard the sunset

sizzle in the river at high noon, all my senses riveted

while sitting on the floor of a used book store in a futile effort to make pictures appear in 3D much like life on a good day.

I bought a novel about an Oracle in hopes of divining the future. the cloudy morning shrouded the Three Sisters.

I walked the mountain path, drank in nature, a rabbit in a blue vest looked so surreal as it beckoned me, such nonsense, was I to follow?

Negative shades are a form of nothingness like

an old man with a brown cap clasping the steering wheel aimlessly driving a traffic circle, in desperation, counter clockwise,

always approaching never reaching his destination

until he uncoils and reads a bed time story to his sleepy grandson about a Velveteen Rabbit,

Close by, mother stands hidden by the door, a tear falls to the carpet.

With the state I was in it seemed so real.

volume 6 | issue 4

why with its nonsense rebecca corcoran

To cause pause amid the petty and cruel to twirl and twist in the wilding wind with hen feathers in our hair.

To question the order and man

and sing our own songs with our eyes closed and our feet bare.

To trust the adoration of self as virtue nay sin as young women we

are taught by the maniacs god and men. To love still the spring in an April snowstorm

with ankles and sandals in the slish slosh of slush. To stare at the page and wait till the rage can be restrained by wit, words and ink. To fix the feral scares we are taught At apron strings for fear of things.

To keep the hopeful hemmed in the humdrum As sapphires in an exile’s coat lining. To write about it all.

bitter sweet marty rempel

Time and reason stopped moving, my hair was still wet

riding in a lost taxi, in a storm, separating hopes from reality. “That’s not my cello.” I said to the driver. Nonsense,

He insisted Haiku has 17 syllables swerving hard left

just missing the pan handler and his black cat.

It is the rum runners

and swindlers with their knock off purses who control the market place.

The poets and singers delegated to the alley ways

their thoughts discarded

by jaded politicians and their double talk in fast time

spinning circumstances counter clockwise black is white up is down Alleluia

bitter sweet

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on being here sometimes rebecca corcoran la la la dee da

the beer is good

now does it

the cigarettes are tolerable

it doesn't seem that impressive not when you see it here like this

but if the right person were to sing it it could fix you

break you touch you oh yes

even kiss you i am happy here

happy living where i am

half ways round the world

with the man that romance built and he loves me

but this is not about him this is about the la la la dee da the melody that is smothering between concrete and glass

between high rise happiness and slum sobrieties this place has it all

everything a person could ever desire money

if you destroy the filter bars on every corner

and cheap mean taxis

yes just about everything a young gypsy could require (la la la dee da) but

dare i admit one but

what good are all these alleys

if there is no drunk playing spoons no whore selling kisses

no hobo bestowing wisdom no

(la la la dee da) this is heaven

without music i am sorry

i cannot finish the praises that i stared to (sing)

about this place

why there's oodles and oodles of the stuff

i have gotten all caught up in the other part

never be without

(la la la dee da)

and work why there's so much work that you would and its cheap here

why you can eat your fill for a dollar yes its heaven pure heaven

(la la la dee da)

and cheap

the other part

what good is heaven

if the angels are too busy to sing

volume 6 | issue 4

the house i haven't built stacey grant

I plan to buy a house or build it new,

and make it old. Intentionally, officially,

most correctly pre-aged. Stone I can moss-paint with a brush of spores,

with floors built to creak

and windows meant to sing

in approved wind directions. Spiders in the corners, not exactly placed,

x-booka-gramtube-tok will collins

but strategically positioned

in the glitter of daylight.

Needs

for the sparkliest webs A picket fence,

freshly painted white

to be distressed, approved messed, pre-weathered to compliance.

The grass will feel slightly nostalgic before it grows,

and it shall stay nostalgic

for each year that follows. The dust will be instructed

in proper accumulating technique… and then instructed again, for clarity purposes.

One

Sanctimonious Electronic

Narratives S

Endlessly…

The bones will be new.

The bones will sparkle.

The bones will be newly pretending otherwise. But her face: It will speak

in a language

that forgot it was ever approved for construction.

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northword: A Literary Journal Of Canada’s North

marginalia

Nonsense is a difficult concept to define precisely.

Making Sense of Nonsense

Nonsense! I hear you cry. Nonsense is easy to define or, at least, to recognize.

A column by douglas abel

Nonsense is something that doesn’t make sense! It’s as simple as that.

Common sense tells you when something is sensible, or when it’s nonsense. Which is all well and good, if you can define precisely what “sense” is, or

what makes something “sensible.” Something that is nonsense is non-sense; it is lacking in sense. But what is this “sense” that is lacking?

Here the difficulty arises. For the concepts, “sense” and “sensible,” have two distinct sets of meanings that do not at first glance seem to be compat-

ible. There is an intellectual or cognitive sense of sense. Something that is

“sensible” is reasonable, or just, in keeping with known or observable facts, confirming to the rules of logic. The sensible thing is correct, or right, or “true,” satisfying the mind—whatever that is—that it conforms to what we know to be true about the world. Something that is nonsense can somehow

be proven or demonstrated to be untrue, not in accordance with the facts. Q.E.D.

Except that Q.E.D. is not always applicable in the search for truth. Not all things that make sense can be deduced, generated by logic. There is an even

broader range—most knowledge, perhaps—of truth and sense that are arrived at through inductive processes, through observation. It cannot be

“proved” conclusively, using syllogisms and dialectic, that the earth revolves around the sun. Centuries of observation with the tools of the time led to

the “common sense” conclusion that the sun just had to revolve around the earth. Everyone knew that. To think otherwise was nonsense.

So, what people could see, and what they therefore believed, became

“common knowledge,” until further and more detailed observation led to the conclusion that the earth must revolve around the sun. To think otherwise was the new nonsense.

In this way, sensible and nonsensical become intellectual judgements. If something is nonsense, it doesn’t “think right.”

Yet there is a whole other realm of sense and sensibility that colours, or even defines, what can be considered sensible and what must or might be dis-

missed as nonsense. This is the realm of feeling, of sensation, of “the senses.” In this realm, something that is “sensible” is something that can be detected by one or more of the senses: sight, hearing, smell, touch, taste, propriocep-

tion, kinaesthetic awareness. Sensitivity then becomes an ability to make

contact with the “real world” through the senses. The hole realm of “truth through observation” depends upon the physical senses, upon the ability to feel that world in some concrete way. “Common sense” is as much a set of shared feelings and perceptions as it is a set of shared intellectual thoughts. 24

volume 6 | issue 4

It is in this realm of feelings and perceptions—feelings

growl? If we needed to take the time to logically deter-

nonsense take on meanings that are less coldly rational,

would not live to tell the tale. Our senses make us run

subsequently processed as thoughts—that sense and more intuitive and somehow more physical. If some-

thing makes sense, it “feels” right or true. Nonsense somehow “feels” wrong or false. The body becomes aware of real-world truth or falsehood.

This area of “feeling right,” vs. “thinking right,” is one that is not generally given as much weight or validity as

is given to the realm of intellectual proof. Since the time of the Greek philosophers, or of Hindu and Buddhist

“thinkers,” feelings, emotions and associated percep-

tions have been looked at (!) with suspicion. Feelings are mysterious; perceptions can be distorted. We are often

not even conscious of our feelings as they occur; how

then can we understand them and, more important, control them in any effective, and “reasonable” way?

And yet feelings are as much a part of discovering sense and nonsense as are thoughts. We all have the expe-

rience that “something doesn’t feel right.” We can’t express logically why this is the case, but the feeling is

there. And very often, perhaps most often, our feeling

proves to be correct. In the same way, we can enter a room where a friend is waiting, and “sense” immediately

mine that a sabre tooth tiger was indeed nearby, we

or grab a spear immediately, “without thinking.” We are, with good reason, first and foremost “sentient” beings.

The fact that both thought and feeling are involved in

determining sense and nonsense points to an aspect of our human brains and our real-world experiences that

has become increasingly evident in recent decades. Sci-

entists are discovering that any apparent or “perceived” dichotomy between thought and feeling is, ultimately, false. What we call thoughts, what we call feelings and what we call perceptions consist of electrochemical activ-

ity in the brain and nervous system. There is, it seems, nothing else but that activity, and the neurons and nerves in which and through which it occurs. We may feel, or think, that thoughts and feelings are different. But

while what we call thoughts and what we call feelings

may centre themselves in different parts of the brain, at different times and for different “reasons,” the physiologi-

cal impulses themselves are not significantly different. There is no electrochemical distinction between an emotion, a memory, and a conclusion. Anger and reason have the same patterns on an EEG.

that something is wrong. There is “something in the air”

When we try to define what is sensible and what is not,

can “think” wrong.

intuition, perceptions and feelings, intermingled and

that alerts us. Nonsense can “feel” wrong, as much as it The importance of feelings in determining what is real or true “makes sense” and relates to our development as

physical beings on this earth. Our senses and feelings are

quick—much quicker than logical thought processes— and can lead to immediate reactions and actions. There

is something in the air—a scent, a sound. Was that a

we must “conclude” that we are dealing with all of logic, ultimately not separable. To think, or feel, anything else is nonsense.

I feel that I think, And therefore this thing called “I” Feels like it exists.

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northword: A Literary Journal Of Canada’s North

contributors douglas abel is an actor, director, writer, theatre historian

poets is Billy Collins (for reasons you might guess.) Will is

Christopher Marlowe continues to continue . . . to continue.

for mental health, a lover of animals (except spiders), and

and voice and speech teacher. Work on his novel about He tries to separate sense and nonsense in the world in which he lives. Sometimes he succeeds.

cullen bird is a writer and storyteller living in Fort McMurray on Treaty 8 Territory. He is always interested in the fight for a sustainable future.

sandy canuel is the owner and photographer behind Rendezvous Photography, specializing in professional

he likes long walks on the beach… especially in countries that don’t speak English very well.

Born under a Leo sky in a Dragon year, rebecca corcoran

was raised in Branch, Newfoundland. She spent years wandering, writing, singing, and collecting stories. Poetry

is her response to living. It is the blood in the cut. She is covered in scars.

headshots, personal branding, and portrait photography.

nicole cormier is a grade 6 teacher at St. Kateri Catholic

approachable, she creates images that tell authentic sto-

with Distinction, she was also a finalist for the Keyano Col-

With a passion for helping people look confident and ries and elevate personal and professional brands. Based

in Alberta, Sandy also enjoys other genres of photography

like conceptual illustration, wildlife, aura, and landscape photography.

brenda carter writes, “There is a bit of mystery in the art

I create, especially with the fabric collage process. Small pieces of fabric all put together is a unique way to make what I hope is a spectacular creation using some very

vivid colours have become my forte. Fabric collage is like a

jigsaw puzzle. It takes time and mental energy to complete. The process can be quite taxing and time consuming, but it is art, unique in every way imaginable. I love the chal-

lenge. I am a recovering brain cancer survivor currently

in remission. Textile art has been my therapy throughout

some tough times these last few years. My life journey has

School in Fort McMurray. A University of Alberta graduate

lege Distinguished Alumni Award. She is passionate about fostering literacy and inspiring a love of reading and writing in her students.

veronica ephgrave, after 20 years being a local "Fort

McMurr-ian", recently embarked on a new journey to Ontario (accompanied by her cat). Take care, Fort McMurray 

stacey grant is a proud Métis mother of two and a mul-

tidisciplinary artist focused on traditional beadwork, writing, and storytelling. Through land-based teachings

and cultural arts, her practice holds space for grief, love, memory, and quiet transformation. She is the author of

the poetry collection Where The Mourning Gathers (2026) www.freyjas.ca/where-the-mourning-gathers/

become my ‘new normal’. My art puts me in a happy place!

Raised with a lifelong love of stories and songs, michaela

brendacartercollections.ca”

tive landscape into the realm of the written word. They

It would be a delight to be able to share my work with others. will collins has been flourishing as an artist in Fort

McMurray since 2006. Originally from southern Ontario,

bryn harkington is a visual artist expanding their crealive in a quiet corner of the prairies with their two cats, and create things as often as they can.

Will has studied languages and music in Toronto, Victoria,

barbara madden is on an expedition of sorts, exploring

with award winning Canadian writers like Patrick Lane,

ings. Inspiration is everywhere, usually a little below the

Tokyo, and Shizuoka, Japan. He studied creative writing

Jack Hodgins, and W.D. Valgardson. One of his favourite

a practising writer and multi-instrumentalist, an advocate

the world through painting, illustration and modest mus-

surface, each idea an excavation through layers and interconnected tunnels branching out into sparks and wonder.

volume 6 | issue 4

ana manderson is afraid of spiders, loves the aesthetic of

and faith-based communities. Drawing on her lived expe-

coach. Two are truths and one is a lie.

support group that offers mental health resources, emo-

thunder storms, and has no opinion about the latest Oilers anastasia meicholas is a visual artist who uses art to translate everyday experiences, deep joys, and observa-

tions into captivating visual stories. “My work does not stick to a single style; I experiment across acrylics, water-

rience, she founded Sisters in Cancer YMM, a peer-led tional support, and culturally sensitive care to women

affected by cancer. Through curated events, one-on-one mentorship, and community partnerships, she has cre-

ated a safe, inclusive space for healing in Northern Alberta.

colors, and mixed media to let each unique idea manifest

kaeley st. peter A girl born in a gritty, yet lovely mining

vivid colors of my birthplace in the Bahamas, combined

5 years old her parents were given a poem she’d written

naturally. My artistic identity is heavily shaped by the

with the striking wilderness of Fort McMurray, where my professional exhibition career first took off in 2012. Along-

side creating, I have dedicated myself to advocating for and participating in local arts communities.”

robert murray is a communicator in Fort McMurray, originally hailing from Halifax, Nova Scotia. If there's an opportunity to laugh or find humour, Mr. Murray is there.

marty rempel, now retired for the fourth time, has been an educator in many capacities and places, serving as a teacher in Germany, Kuwait, and the Bahamas; Special

city. She has been writing poetry since she was a child. At

and accused her of plagiarism. Once they ruled this out, they realized their daughter may have a gift for writing. A Pilates instructor, a bus driver and a power engineer by

profession, these days Kaeley chooses to raise her family

and curate her home. You can find her hiking the trails, weeding her garden, at the yoga studio or curled up with a good book.

graeme tennant lives and works in Whitehorse Yukon, Canada. He has had several short stories and poems published. He loves to write, but still has a day job.

Education Co-ordinator in Northern Alberta with Cree and

genvieve tokarz writes, “Born and raised in Fort McMur-

he retired as principal from a private school in Markham,

surrounds us all. I aim to capture the people and places

Dene students; and principal in Jinhua, China. Last June ON, which caters to students from mainland China. Now

he spends his time reading the news while drinking dark coffee on his balcony, solving world problems, writing, and planning his next trip with his lovely wife.

jess rotar writes, “I am a songwriter and musician born and raised in western Canada. I have always had a passion

for writing- but this is my first time sharing words without music surrounding it!”

emma kate sherratt (they/them) writes, “Artist & writer; acutely skeptical and insatiably curious – annoying to most. Art helps me meet the ebb and flow of the human

experience, and speak to the person, nature, and the self how it speaks to me. Sometimes, I think we may be having different conversations though...”

sundas shamshad is a cancer survivor, community

advocate, and equity champion whose work focuses

on improving the quality of life for those navigating

cancer—particularly individuals from rural, racialized,

ray, Alberta, I have always been captivated by the art that surrounding me with a passionate language of paintings that I have found an expressional identity in.”

jennifer vardy is a community leader and advocate whose work is rooted in regional connection, identity, and the creation of meaningful change.

meghan whitmore Mother, fiancé, nurse, beautiful weirdo.

Words are infectious and important so we all feel less alone. zachary wood writes, “I have the privilege of working for

FMPSD, where my passion for helping others fuels every aspect of my work. I find deep fulfillment in making a positive impact, and it is through my role that I am able to truly

connect with and support those around me. Poetry, for me, is more than just an art form—it's the language of my

soul. It allows my deepest emotions and inner thoughts to come alive in a way I cannot express through any other

medium, giving voice to the parts of me that yearn to be heard.”

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northword: A Literary Journal Of Canada’s North

fly me to the moon by Sandy Canuel

Proud Partner of NorthWord Magazine 28

www.flyymm.com

wonderment by Anastasia Meicholas

“Art is my shelter. It is the only place where the noise in my head can finally become a language.”

When the world feels too loud and the uncertainties of everyday life begin to crowd in, I pick up my brushes. I don’t plan. I don’t follow rules. I just paint because I have to give a shape to the

invisible weights I carry. Wonderment is not just a portrait; it is an open window into my own mind during moments when it feels entirely broken apart.

I chose to shatter this face into a sharp mosaic of purples and deep indigos because that is exactly what anxiety feels like to me—a

fractured sense of self, split into a dozen different compartments under the weight of heavy stress. On the left, you can see a second

profile emerging in greens and pinks. That is my hidden self. It is

the quiet alter ego, the soft and vulnerable subconscious that I keep tucked away, protected from the outside world.

The heart of this piece is a painful contradiction that I know

so many of us live through every single day. I painted a wide, vibrant red smile to represent the polite public mask I put on to

tell the world “I’m fine.” But if you look into the eyes, you see the

truth. They are wide, unblinking, and caught in a silent panic. Those delicate, root-like cracks tearing through the skull are

my thoughts—growing so heavy, spreading so fast, that they threaten to shatter my composure entirely.

I trapped myself between a heavy, suffocating grey cloud of

depression and a roaring, fiery background of orange and yellow. The bright warmth is an echo of the bold colors of my Bahamian heritage, but here, it feels like a chaotic, overwhelming pressure

pushing against me. Wonderment is my rawest confession. It is the exhaustion of performing happiness while navigating an internal storm. I painted it to remind myself, and anyone else who

looks at it, that the masks we wear are only a tiny fraction of the beautiful, painful, and resilient landscapes we carry inside.

The Northern Canada Collective Society for Writers gratefully acknowledges the support of the

Cultural Industries branch of the Alberta Government, whose Magazine Publishers Operating Grant helps to make NorthWord possible.

northern canada collective society for writers statement of purpose: To publish and support the work of writers in northern Canada.

call for submissions NorthWord Volume 6, Issue 5 deadline October 30,2026 theme Resistance

guest editor Jamal-e-Fatima Rafat We’re always looking for prose (3000 words or fewer, fiction or nonfiction), poetry (50 lines maximum), excerpts from current projects, and visual art.

Extended submission guidelines are on our website: www.northwordmagazine.com

please submit as a microsoft word or image attachment to: northword@hushmail.com for advertising and business inquiries, contact: www.northwordmagazine.com

balderdash by Veronica Ephgrave