Author
(or the invisible link between a game of Solitaire and Freytag’s pyramid...) Exposition: You start your day with a game of Spider Solitaire, betting on a wish — win, and it comes true. There’s always something to wish for, but mostly you wish for a story you’ve sent out to get long listed, even make… Continue reading Winning happens!
If his gaze were fingers, I would feel them dancing on my body every time he said I was born to Tango. But I’d rather his gaze were rain. Cool, gentle rain on my forehead, teardrops into the lake of my eyes, sweet melon juice on my parched lips, a tongue-lick of breeze above my… Continue reading Tanguera
You’ve crossed the globe to be here, yet you can’t take the last few steps. Stone fences speckled with age, salute your long shadow. The smell — musty slate roofs, moist dirt — stretches an arm and waits for you to take it. You remain motionless. Houses outlive us, you think, the paved streets too, those… Continue reading A two-beat waltz
The car stops just as I think I’ll never catch a ride. Take me as far as you can, I say, and sit next to a girl in a child seat. Starting work tomorrow, I lie, school’s over. Not a word about the handful of money in my backpack or what it is for. Behind… Continue reading In my mother’s shoes
She’s sitting alone at the second to last row of empty chairs in the dim foyer where the poetry readings are. I wonder where I’ve seen her — is she a doctor, a nurse, one of James’s therapists? Her sneakers, like the white paws of a black cat, are the single diversion from her black… Continue reading The Bard’s Wife
She sits at the bus station, still as the moment between two breaths. What do you do with yourself the morning after that single night, she thinks. What do you feel — hope, hate, regret? A crumb of leftover love? Her hands are fragile and spent. He said they were beautiful, her hands. He kissed… Continue reading a.m. story
a Hemingwayesque Please, say something. Tell me what to do, what do you want me to do. Deliver it with the smile that solves everything. The smile I loved you for. You stare ahead and say, “Have you heard that story about hills being like elephants?” Heard? I’ve translated it—word by word from your tongue to mine—for… Continue reading I must love you again
Rostislava Pankova-Karadjova 