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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
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
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
Is it February Seventeenth?, Manu wonders, standing on the kerb of Church street. The flowers in his hand, where did he get them from? Not from the Pharmacy, he hasn’t crossed the street yet. Wild daisies with curly roots and soil stuck to them. From the riverbank then, he thinks, but has no recollection of… Continue reading Flowers for Meredith
Rostislava Pankova-Karadjova 