Windigo Fire

Reading Windigo Fire by M. H. Callway is like running from an out of control forest fire while being shot at from an overhead plane. You want to stop the action to take a breather, or at least go the the washroom, but you can’t. Is that an overstatement? It isn’t when you realize that this is exactly what happens to one of the main characters in this fast-pace, heart-racing novel.

wmoon by the light of the Windego Moon

While the dodging of bullets is going on, the other main character – a young girl, is fleeing the clutches of a Santa clad drug-lord who wants her to accidentally fall off a cliff before she exposes his plans. No safe place she finds stays safe for long.

trench we’ll bury the body here

Windigo Fire took me to a northern Ontario I didn’t know existed, perhaps, in fact, it doesn’t, but the writing makes the surreal setting so real as to seem almost a documentary. Vivid, complex, characters that one never really likes but who draw out sympathy any way. Every victory leads disaster till the climax were plot threads are tied tight around the guilty.

tree is it safe in the trees

Violent without being gory, with characters who pay the price of their actions. Men and women get punched, stabbed, shot and feel the pain, it doesn’t mysterious vanish in the next chapter. At one point, one of our principles thinks “An hour whipped by in five minutes.” That is very true of this book as well. A great read and highly recommended. Available at either or &




we were laser Indians

who swam under the bridge

a lost tribe of space rangers

who had to start a fire with stick

children of another time

who fought to feel at home

in this time and place


we found safe places

but they didn’t stay that way

what we found

always brought us back

to the confusion of being

the witch-wound moon-brats

we tried to escape from being

we were TV chefs

stuck on radio shows


there wasn’t a we

it was just one

one child – male

and sometimes even that was a pretence

gender slipped away

as easy as the stars from the sky

as quick as the morning dew

left the garden of grey newspapers

in an empty lot


I pretend to be we

we play the reflection with no mirror

the title fight with no sport

the first cigarette with no one to rebel against

the peek around corners

to make sure there

is no one to make this I a we


I was told

no one wants to play with you

this I who didn’t give a shit

we didn’t care

we were a voiceless choir

singing to the happy congregation

we were tired of the we

we never found the I enough

the we enough

the pretence was never enough

to keep out some pair of eyes

to ask questions

what the fuck are you playing at

   get the hell home kid

   grow up won’t you

   no wonder the other kids won’t hang out with you

   just look at you stop being such a cry baby

after a while we didn’t hear

the voices were sound

from a distant fog

we’d say

thank you

   fuck you too asshole

   why not take a picture

and scamper to find another spot

to set up the empty box moon landing

the box an image on the wall

the wall too high to climb

the wall to the stars

we didn’t care



had our laser

light sabre wielding robot

to take care of we


moose blue windigo moose


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