Jade Palmer and Greg Santos
Bienvenue and welcome to carte blanche issue 55. After an eclectically international issue in summer 2026, we decided to bring it closer to home by featuring creators from Quebec and Canada only. Unsurprisingly, it was no less eclectic than any other issue of the magazine
Read MorePhotography by Maggie McPhee
Traveling to Barbados with my family for Christmas. A set of three diptychs. A string of Christmas lights. A rope that I pull at. I want to get there but I never can.
Read MoreComic by Kate Lavut
Kate Lavut is an award-winning playwright, graphic novelist and film maker. Working within a variety of disciplines, she explores a different storytelling technique for every project.
Read MoreCreative Nonfiction by Willy Blomme
The smoke is unsettling, but the worst part – more than the smell, more than the haze and more than the irritation at the back of my throat – is that I can’t see the mountain. I stand in the middle of Mont Royal – the street that shares its name with the mountain and with the city – and look towards where it should be, a wall shoring up the horizon.
Read MoreCreative Nonfiction by Caroline Little
My dad belongs to raccoon alley. He belongs to streetcars and skyscrapers, to a rhododendron cloaked in winter canvas. He belongs to jazz standards on an upright piano, warbling their way up the stairs to almost-sleeping ears. My dad is ill-fitting in this domain of single-use plastics. Lately, the plastics seem to disagree.
Read MoreFiction by Anya Leibovitch
A large statue of a cassowary welcomes you to Wongaling, the midsection of Mission Beach, Queensland. It’s humid as hell and you’re sweating even before the sun is up. Most people who make it this far up the coast are motivated by exotic wildlife and white sand beaches, but you’re not here on holiday. Still, you couldn’t have imagined you’d be spending the majority of your time wearing a hair net and plastic apron, bent over metal troughs elbow-deep in water and rat shit.
Read MoreFiction by Sabrina Michael
She can see the man writhing on the streetcar tracks through the cracked screen of her iPhone, glinting in the bright sun of high noon. He’s screaming about damnation, in so much distress that it’s affecting his messaging, the specifics of the impending damnation muffled and unclear. Everyone’s damnation, she assumes, coming soon.
Read MorePhotography by H.R. Link
Within the frame of a photograph, a window is a recursive frame, a sub-frame. In this series, I make use of these sub-frames in various ways.
Read MorePoetry by Calypso André
If you are falling it is not too late trust fall into these words the way I fall through these clouds because Father I am learning cloud is too distant a word for how clear the world is from up here don’t you know birds learn how to fly by falling
Read MorePoetry by Sarah Burgoyne
but where is my mother? ah, ah yes, by now she is the entire west
out the window, the milky way lets fall its milk from bright glass jars
the fish of the stream won’t stop dreaming
Read MorePoetry by Poonam Dhir
while pundits perform ganesh puja surfaces are wiped clean and envelopes slip into cotton kurtas. aunty pushes stories into tiny objects and finds herself missing the receipt.
Read MorePoetry by Alana Dunlop
This is the place from where I came:
born misshapen, at the women’s hospital, near a strip mall.
When I go back it feels like I am drinking water, rediscovering
a cold feeling in my throat.
Read MorePoetry by Chanel Sutherland
and the glasses sweat into the table and the forks scrape porcelain and the air swells with the smell of butter and basil and someone is laughing and someone is saying god, I needed this today
Read MoreTranslation by H Felix Chau Bradley and Eli Tareq El Bechelany-Lynch, from Anya Nousri
Look out. When you’re invited to someone’s house, don’t eat what they offer you. S’hour can be visited on you through food. Avoid drinking; if you don’t have a choice, always wipe the rim of your glass so as not to leave any saliva. Don’t let people touch your hair. They could do gris-gris and drive you to your ruin. Don’t send or post any photos online. Learn these invocations and recite them whenever you feel someone staring at you.
Read MoreTranslation by Misha Solomon, from Jean-Paul Daoust
4AM Parc Lafontaine. Ambiance de jungle. The pond. Like a pasteurized swamp. Some fog to make the decor vampiric. The lights float above the paths. Annoying buoys that signal erotic rambles. And the police, watching. Because there are men roving around there. Only men. It's the law.
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