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The Fiddlehead
Atlantic Canada's International Literary Journal
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poetry
The Break
My mother's eye were calm brooks; less than lashes'
Death of the Artist
He toasted Dionysus, invented
San Remo's, Greenwich Village
Derelict, shore your ruins here,
Part of a Chorus
Having lost your way
Twice is Wish
The child is perfect, and my work is done ---
Moments in Gothic
His the decor
When There is Heard
When there is heard from a gesture in weeds
The Young Girls and Lovely
The young girls and lovely gather blossoms in April,
Poem
If I could walk out into the cold country
Africa Lies Within Us
Africa lies within us, not without;
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Current Issue:
No. 301