A collection of 18 posts
Sister Three was on the phone, / and she was outraged.
Daniela and I walked side-by-side on a path alongside the train tracks, with scrub brush and the occasional mesquite tree on either side.
For a moment she pictured herself living somewhere else. Somewhere far away where women fixed things in order to live.
Surrounded by distant relatives he’d never met and couldn’t remember, the old surgeon lay wheezing in his deathbed, clutching the small model of a human heart.
Seven hundred years ago, / Dante died in exile in Ravenna / and was buried there.
It was late in October, and the Carolina mountains were dressed in the gorgeous reds and yellows of autumn.
Months away, but the milestone looms.
One day, I was taken from the village by the blue-eyed soldiers. They had set up camp in the nearby woods.
People had known about the Claw beneath the sea for years, passing its story down again and again.