Category: Spring 2021

Sheila’s parents had lived through the sounds of German jackboots on their city’s cobblestone pavement. When Czechoslovakia was “liberated” from German occupation after World War II by the Red Army, her grandfather started writing articles for an unauthorized literary
I  share my room with a colony of memories, they live inside my blankets and pillows, and come fluttering out at night when I dream. They flit here and there across my bedroom scratching on the remnants of my thoughts, chewing up the day’s ebbing hours: In my half
i built a dam of stoneto patch a leak in my brain,keeping hasty yearningsto myself, but cracks beganforming as my vision blurred,he asked if i was okay,i said yes, why the hell did i say yes? i shoveled sand into
On these morningsbed sheets reach the corners of my earssighing and reaching for more blankets, I realizecoolness has touched the clouds as it has me the pavement matches the sky bestwhen grey shingles and white colonialsdim their tones for
i still remember the embarrassment i feltas i walked back to apartment numberthree zero seven, from my manic sprint around the block,tobacco stuck between my teeth and gums,legs buckled inwards and shaking violently; they saw my bloodshot eyes anda
The autumn night my sister was releasedfrom Bellevue, dressed in a rough shroudof brown burlap,my mother told me to take her upstairsand bathe her.I filled the old tub with hot water,gathered a bar of Ivory soap andthe green bottle

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