top of page


by Writer & Artist Ellie Anglin

Writing: Text


Published in Textile Magazine, 2019

Last summer my wife and I rode our bikes together along the Cambridge to Paris rail trail - an eighteen kilometer venture alongside an out-of-use train track. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no fitness queen, but I’d heard that it was an easy trip with a pizza joint at the end of it. I like the kind of biking where you feel like you’re flying, and the crisp pure air and birdsong soundtrack of a forest, but I especially enjoy incorporating pizza into my exercise.

Writing: Text


Published by Papirmasse, with art by Aman, 2012

A Were-Poem in Two Parts


A pack of run-down wolves

Skulk under the stale flourescence 

of the Coffee Tyme at midnight. 

These are the Night Men.

They tap ashes, clear throats.

Chink metal against cracked egg-shell mugs 

in a yeasty late-night tympani.

Smoke gets under an eyelid.

Powdered ash-logs 

rest on dented aluminum.

A milky ring is left 

on the taut, greyscale abdomen 

of the Sunshine girl.

A foster child with a duffle bag 

is still waiting to be picked up.

From the half-moons under her eyes

you can see she is the natural daughter

of the night. 

I am behind the counter, 

with the flies walking around under the plexi-glass.

My shift will not end for another six hours.  

I am watching and wondering.

Without Night Men

Who would buy the day olds? 

Who would collect bottles?

Who would clear roadkill?

  And who would sling his boots across the power wire? 


The moon is one 

Big ass white marble tonight 

And just look at 'em.

Neon-lit lumps!

Vitamin deficient lugs! 

Dunking donuts like a

lady doing her nails.

Coffee and powdered sugar

infused in their beards.

You can hear ‘em if you’re still.

These humanoids

slumped in Coffee Tyme

mutter code

while the city sleeps.  

“Cold enough for ya?” 

“Leave a lil room for milk, eh?” 

It’s a secret language -

part of their brilliantly crafted 

take-over of the night. 

We’re one step ahead of ‘em this time, though.

We’ve got the place surrounded.  

My knees are knockin’,

and what I wouldn't give 

to hear Lottie say “Oh, Wolfie!” once again.

Yet, though we’re a-feared, 

the Were-Men are coming for you, Night Men.

And it is not your donuts that we seek.

Writing: Text
Pink Rose



The beautiful, terrible rule of decay

We bloom like roses only to become dirt

For the thorns to feed on

You and i one day two mounds of dust

Beneath the sod on our front lawn

Food for the worms and briar rose

Our beauty is forgotten by time

Just like our grandmothers before us

Not frozen in amber like the Jurassic bug

Or captured in a flip book 

To replay on a loop

But trapped inside a universal wheel

Dying from the day we are born

Writing: Text
Water Color Birds



At the last of Donna’s six free counselling sessions, Dr. Pat told her that she should consider taking up a hobby. Wikipedia told Donna that Bird Watching or “Birding” is the most popular hobby in the world after walking. Donna hates to walk, so she borrowed “The Sibley Guide to Birds" from the Parkdale Library. Sibley told Donna to make notes on what birds she saw.  

Writing: Text
bottom of page