Jennifer A. G.

Joined December 2017

31 stories

Bio

🇨🇦 Canadian Writer, Painter & Embroidery Artist

♾️ Métis Nation

🎓 University of Victoria Alumna

📝 Publications: The Malahat Review, Freefall Magazine, Geist, Best Canadian Poetry 2026

Achievements (6)

Stories (31)

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The Tagger
Which train car would he tag? And how did he choose? He would tell you there was no real method; it was all gut. Wolf guts: tooth and blood and earth instinct.
By Jennifer A. G.3 years ago in Fiction
Arms
I love to see an arm out a passenger side window, of an ‘87 Buick or a Volkswagen Westfalia. An arm baked brown over seven golden summers;
By Jennifer A. G.3 years ago in Fiction
The Learner
It always seemed a miracle to her that the car heading eastward and the semi bound west did not collide, but time and time again they roared past one another, neither aware of having narrowly cheated death.
By Jennifer A. G.3 years ago in Fiction
The Diagnosis
It made me sad to look at my fingers, so I looked out the window instead. There was a phrase my nohkom used when she was alive, but I can’t remember the words just now, only that it was about wanting things to be one way when they were another.
By Jennifer A. G.3 years ago in Fiction
The Author
I’d transcribed the woman’s words — an author popular on Canada’s west coast — and stared at my writing on the page. My writing.
By Jennifer A. G.3 years ago in Fiction
Little Tyrant
The cat, Stormcloud, was only called Stormcloud at 1109 Water Street. Four houses down at 1101, she was Tabitha, or Tabs, for short. At the west end of Water Street at 1032, the resident children called her Smoky, and on her evening jaunts across Beach Drive, she was The Marina Cat to every restaurant-goer and sunset-admirer who passed her on her way to the marina kitchens, where the busser Chae-Won had a dish of dinner scraps waiting for her.
By Jennifer A. G.3 years ago in Fiction
The Mountain and the Valley. Top Story - March 2023.
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. It was the Mountain Spirit, Akwuk, expelled to her foothills, who sent up the cumuli to the rosy ceiling suspended between Kmarkn’s western and eastern peaks. A month past, Akwuk had come down from the mountain and entered the valley of Kmarkn at evening. She had passed through the line of cedars that divided her realm from Axwiy’s. Perhaps at this point, the Valley had sensed the Mountain’s unhallowed entry, or heard the strident thrum of its elysian heart on the night air.
By Jennifer A. G.3 years ago in Fiction
The Robin's Nest
A blue egg in May, The last of springtime's clutch, cold Now, empty of life.
By Jennifer A. G.3 years ago in Poets
Ink #2
Blue ink in her flesh: Daggers and serpents and gods. Those lines were black once.
By Jennifer A. G.3 years ago in Poets
Ink
My lover has brown Eyes and blue ink in his skin. Was black once, he says.
By Jennifer A. G.3 years ago in Poets
The Tarpaulin
Storm clouds blacken our Blue polyethylene sky, Against which rain drives.
By Jennifer A. G.3 years ago in Poets
Qapkas. Second Place in Christopher Paolini's Fantasy Fiction Challenge. Top Story - November 2022.
Everything was orange, starting with the trees that ringed the clearing: aspen, birch, cottonwood, maple, and the larches whose needles paled to gold in the Fall.
By Jennifer A. G.3 years ago in Fiction