Was the Moon A witness Or an accomplice? I can’t tell But, Both times It was there Sleepless Swollen eye An overripe orange That I mistook For the sun Why did you twist me up? I ask the staring eye Who, Clutching every reply Doubts to confide Even a hiccup Hollow Pulp-less fruit With
CategoryCreative writing
That Moment
Film tapes turned to ashes Bare feet on the shore, unable to walk The tied ropes that suffocate me Holding you tight while you slip off My naked ego goes to its knees Carrying the stale bitterness of crying too much Will I wake up from this nightmare again? Will I remove all the blades
Foreign Plants Grow Between My Toes
I couldn’t name a sparrow from a line-up of birds nor tell you what the ants dancing in my summer yard do after dark or before it or during I couldn’t confess which flowers bloom forth from my soul today—I’d have to look them up. Most of the Romantics are lost on me;
The Death of Erekle
Adaptation of Epic of Gilgamesh, Tablet VII. The Death of Enkidu “For his Friend Enkidu Gilgamesh Did bitterly weep as he wandered the wild: ‘I shall die, and shall I not then be as Enkidu? Sorrow has entered my heart!” *** ერეკლეს სიკვდილი გიგლა ეწევა ბოლო ღერს, სანთელი ანათებს პალატას. მისი გული ღრიალს
Metal Birds
Far behind the house’s rear, among moss and dead leaves was a spring. Connected to the spring by a small staircase of large rocks lie a stream that flowed as a river when it rained and ran dry through summer and winter. Insects–gnats, mosquitos, flies–danced above puddled water in the day, the light giving shape
“Eruption Imminent”: Volcanic Activity on the Reykjanes Peninsula
My grandfather called me in the afternoon when it first began, Varstu nokkuð hrædd? Were you afraid? Ha? Ó, nei nei… Huh? Oh, no… This spring semester, I have been taking my online courses alone in my house in Iceland, a peaceful study spot near the ocean. I live in a tiny town called Njárðvík,
Candle Soup
The sterile metal of the needle pushed against my skin. It probed the quivering tissue, like a ripe grape. Then with skin pillowing around the tip, it sank beneath the surface. I suppressed a wince. It wasn’t so much the needle as what I knew was waiting for me in the next hour: crushing immobility