Julia Marsiglio
Bio
Loss parent. Canadian poet. Fiction and nonfiction writer. Intersectional feminist. Writing on trauma, grief, mental health, marginalization, neurodivergence and more.
Stories (12/0)
The Battle of Billings Bridge
It was a cold February day in Ottawa, Ontario, the capital city of Canada. A pair of men on horseback rode down the snowy streets, between rows of transport trucks moored to the ice. The video zoomed in on the second figure, proudly waving his blood-red flag high in the air—and the caption read: "the calvary has arrived".
By Julia Marsiglio2 years ago in The Swamp
Love Scenes From the Belvoir Cathedral
1182 CE "He said yes!" Agnes ran through the build-site laughing in disbelief. Her father had said yes. Thomas was only an apprentice and her father —the master-builder. She'd expected a "no" or at the very least a "not yet".
By Julia Marsiglio2 years ago in Fiction
The Cult of the Sleeping Elders
Alicia was surrounded by a soft grey calm as she slipped into consciousness. She felt no pain and no fear. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard Vivaldi—Spring—the rift one minute in on repeat. At first, it was comforting, but then irritating and shrill. She wasn’t sure if she couldn’t move her limbs or simply wouldn’t. And then suddenly the pain of hot and cold stretched through her, and her body was confronted by a myriad of sensations and sounds. Moans, cries, splooshing fluids and the suctioning noise of people rising from their cryogenic baths.
By Julia Marsiglio2 years ago in Fiction
The Rainstorm and the Dog
I think I left because it was so dark and so wet. Had the night been less dreary, then perhaps I could have been more optimistic about the future. Something about the way the empty tree branches reached up to crown the rumbling November sky reminded me of his barbed beard surrounding the smile that charmed everyone else. Everyone else—but not me.
By Julia Marsiglio2 years ago in Fiction
Pomegranates And Walnuts Transport Me
I close my eyes as I take the first bite. I'd been waiting for this. Fesenjoon—it's the stuff of legends. The silky smooth gravy contrasts with the delicate walnut crumble it envelops. The mouth-feel is impeccable. Texture makes a dish. Flavour complements it. Fesenjoon is the marriage of both. It's perfection.
By Julia Marsiglio3 years ago in Feast
Under the Cherry Blossom Sky
There were no fires that night. They couldn’t risk it. Aurelia ran her fingers along the gold chain around her neck. The motion was comforting, and the feeling of the chain links sliding between her thumb and index finger anchored her. Her mother had given her the locket when she went away to college. That was a long time ago now.
By Julia Marsiglio3 years ago in Fiction
Foam on the Ocean and the Foundations of a Feminist Identity
As a girl, I was captivated by the mythical realms presented in fairytales. Through them, I could escape the mundane and transport myself into a world of escape. And no tale held my attention quite the way that Hans Christian Andersen's The Little Mermaid did.
By Julia Marsiglio3 years ago in Viva