The House of Violence
by Finley MacDonald
This poetic narrative was conceived in an unbearably hot apartment where I lived on noodles bought with my saved-up wad. I'd escape in daytime to the hospital canteen, from which I could write & gaze over the university, surrounding cottonwoods & roofs, & the low hills beyond the river. Six years later, when I finished, I thought I might die, as I had finished what I was on earth to do.