i like you i like you but i tell my friend that i like patricia and thank my brother at his wedding for seating me next to giedrė but really i like writing to monika because she has this pink jacket and she never meets up with me because really i like to lie in […]
CORNFLOWER SKY In the middle of sky’s temple blooms a flower Kabir A BIRD CALL pierces first flicker of light sun hides its gold in the trees * HOW BEAUTIFUL are the beginnings of things I watch the pale of the moon in the
Midday Rome Did that old rogue from Dresden, Germany tell the truth when he said the dead stroll the streets of Rome and their souls spoke to him in a Trastevere trattoria? They were a pleasant elderly pair who came from the cold seas above. His briefcase meant enough stuffed with the dusty scores of
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On a beautiful hot day in early July 1941, at a bend in the village road that leads out of Panemunėlis towards Kavoliškis, the white armbanders—local Nazi collaborators—arrived on bicycles. They left their bicycles in the forest across the road from an isolated farmstead that belonged to the farmer, Petras Šarkauskas, and began digging a
* * * I saw a massive stump in Sereikiškės Park shining petrol blue blemished by brown slug trails they were enamoured, had gone mad crawling circles on its soft surface around that stump sprouted tiny little mushroom colonies: honey fungus erupting before my eyes I was surprised no one had gathered by that magical
The Creature To protect my image, how’s that possible now, floating in the measured saltwater of this outdoor, special admission aquarium, my tutelary Gods wagering bets above as though their pet raven and dove were each a haruspex, and my body Noah’s boat. I can’t escape this worldly exhibition. There’s no gate, and anyway the
Aquarium By The River we don’t have to wade into the river to take mouthfuls of blue so blindingly distant belonging to the time when water was vision Mingė’s Poem no one sits in the barge any longer just rampant motors of arthropoda tapping at the window-sill of a grocery spiders picking up bottles
evening at the grandparents’ house, I enter the room press the switch and the graveyards will no longer be lit, press it press it, you can’t predict anything, just press this white button, this almost invisible button, here where stairs lead to the loft, and alien feet swiftly run off maybe it’s a post-war child, head
Barbora R. where to begin? well, I work, thank God, still working, these days, you know, no, it’s nothing special, and the money, well, you can live – it’s not minimum wage yes, I divorced my husband a long time ago, how many husbands now? I don’t know, I don’t count, but, to be frank,
Preparing for The Next Life Circumambulating the stupa in Thimphu, Elderly Bhutanese women, Earnestly walk clockwise, Twirling their prayer wheels, chanting, Preparing themselves for life’s eternal journey. They all wear purple— Purple jackets, sweaters, blouses, shawls, Long purple kiras. All my life I’ve loved the color purple— I’ve worn purple coats, purple sweaters, purple dresses. I’ve
