I walked in on the dog in my room staring at himself in the mirror. His nose was right on the surface and he was just staring and doing nothing else. When he heard me come in the room, he looked around, appeared to be embarrassed, as did I.
Hopes and dreams trapped in objects: waiting to be unleashed, or ready to be discarded? Easier just to keep it all, stuff it in dresser drawers and cupboards, hide it under a duvet at the back of the linen closet, until one day, through some trick of fate, it ceases to be invisible again …
Begin In Berlin (and End Up Where…?)
There was once a boy in a bubble. He had, for all eighteen years of his life, lived in the same country, resided in the same house, and been surrounded by the same people. His plans for the future quite resembled his past: graduate from an American high school, go to an American college, then
The Colour of the Day
Again I see the leaves turn colour Vibrant yellows, reds, greens and browns Like burning embers they fall to the ground, Not yet snuffed Cloaking the grey street In their living-dying promise Of a barren tomorrow Reborn in springtime Again I wait for flowers to come, The birds to sing The sun to hail a
Return of the Repressed
“My memories are like a shuffled deck of cards, each one coming up at random.” – Brian James This is my first September in Pankow: when I started studying at ECLA three years ago, the classes began in October. This September is awfully similar to an October––perhaps to the October two years ago––the one before