I trailed closely behind my grandmother as she strode confidently through the crowded lanes, trying desperately not to lose sight of her bright orange sari. She was heading to the jewellery store, and I knew that I was in for a boring afternoon. The gold necklaces and earrings which fascinated her to no end somehow only made my eyes glaze over.
Greenwood by Michael Christie
Greenwood by Canadian writer Michael Christie speaks and sings with a clear voice that never fails its author.
It’s Fiction, Of Course
I felt a sudden sense of shame. Along with the many things I had bid goodbye to over the years, had I also lost my identity? I tried to shake off the feeling and convinced myself that I needed some more time. I glanced at my grandfather. Thankfully, he was oblivious to the internal dialogue I was having with myself.
The Man in the Red Coat by Julian Barnes
Wilde, who shines on every page he inhabits, wasn’t as modern as he thought he was. Foppish writer Count Robert de Montesquiou-Fezensac wasn’t as talented as he thought he was. More people now read Wilde in a day than have read Montesquiou in a century.
Feeling Feverish; It Briefly; Rainbow in Spanish; Nothing Personal; Limits to Resolution
And when the moon and four planets lined up last night
Saturn was plunged into Pensacola Beach.
We could not see it, so plunged was it,
way below the Gulf.
Notice of Reaction
I am I-821 and I-765, or a half-hour morning drive to paper the walls of the cramped space of a Salvadoran consulate,