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The Fiddlehead
Atlantic Canada's International Literary Journal
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Milton Acorn
Robert
We haven't written letters
Joe Dying
When Joe said, 'I'm dying,'
Lee Side in a Gale
Black sea a shone-thru sky
Offshore Breeze
The wind, heavy from the land, irons the surf
Blackfish Poem
Sunglare and sea pale as tears.
House
Building forms in a mudhole
Boy Fishing at a Pier
Wisps of breeze
Proverb
Don't bat me
Girl
Inward I'm the image
I Spun You Out
I spun you out
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Current Issue:
No. 301