Fathom Jan. 1997



Inside Cover



Mary-Kate Arnold
Jamie Reynolds
Natalie Meisner


Trevor Rockwell
Rachel Melis
Mark Anderson


Jamie Reynolds
Andy Murdoch
Andre Narbonne
Andy Murdoch and
Jennifer Reynolds


James Matthews
Mitchell Weibe


True Confessions
Your Own Submission Here


Trevor Rockwell



Original Message

Date: Thu, 9 Nov 1995 15:28 -0400 (AST)
From: “Trevor W. Rockwell” <trockwel@is.dal.ca>
To: c6v9@unb.ca
Subject: Re: copy

>      I went out for a coffee at an all night cafe if you could call it that.
>Bright lights, clean lemon floors and a garrison of policemen for my protection. I worked on Nabokov like a bucksaw but all had was sawdust. No essay, no “correlated pattern in the game.” It was april when I kissed my cardboard cup good night and left that place. The air was soggy the stars bright. I drove my father’s sedan but before I went home, I thought I’d look at a new sub division that was spreading itself out over the fiddleheads. No houses clung yet to the clean, straight well lit roads. It was a house without furniture. They would gather around that very summer, but now it was just my own maze of marvellous streets in the woods. A deer. That stag stood up before my highlit headlights, two crimson jewels looked at me and nothing moved save the blue haze from the dash from 1:31 to 1:32. I turned my headlights off to see what he would do. His head lowered and my engine followed. The stag sniffed slowly then walked to the car. I felt taut against the seatbelt as I slowly opened the passenger door. An air of expectation, enchantment hung over that Ford; I could not breathe. The stag simply got in. We drove like a carousel that night around an iridescent exhibition park city and nothing passed between us and nothing needed to save the ciga­rettes we shared. Then, at daybreak, I let him out on the side of the road near a quiet, fragrant grove. Only then, in the misty haze of the magic dawn did I realize that he had left dozens of grapelike turds on my seat.


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