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  • Poetry > Free Verse
    I’ve got two feet in two separate buckets, Each bucket is red, white and blue. The second in the first sees a boiling red, The first in the second, an indifferent blue. And with my feet in these two buckets, I can’t feel a thing, Except perhaps a numbing chatter And a creeping sting....
  • Poetry > All Poetry
    Castles Made of Cards You know you cannot stack those lies, Like castles made of cards. Three little words, just like the wind, And all collapses hard. Here’s the destruction, the remains, That only you can see. You ask yourself “why didn’t I say— ” Why the invisibility?...
  • Poetry > Sonnet
    My fourteen children, how will I clothe you? When thoughts are money, how can I afford To buy ten shoes for each and still be true To all life’s fragments which I shall record? I cannot buy the universe right now. I cannot seal it with a perfect bow. And yet I make my ink your blood someho...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
    She can be a snake coiled around my neck, Throbbing at every pulse of my veins. She could have sunk her teeth into my throat, Pour the venom into my blood and let it rush into my brain. Sizzle in heat. She could be invisible. No one would know she’s there, Hanging over me, Scorning ...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
    A day before Mothers’ Day In the greenroom backstage, The janitor told us That his mother had just passed away. Broom in hand, He swept the floor. And I almost heard him whisper That the show Must go On. Above, the audience clapped. They laughed as the curtain closed. In the d...
  • Nonfiction > All Nonfiction
    “Nika.” Camille looks at me. “Are you married?” “No, baby, I'm not.” “Do you have a boyfriend?” “No.” “Nika, if you get a boyfriend, tell him that you won't marry him, okay? Okay, Nika, tell him that you will never marry him.” “Cama, what are you so ...
  • Nonfiction > All Nonfiction
    It was winter of 1999, and I was seven years old. I never considered myself a gullible child, but I had always believed in Santa Clause. My parents, brother and I were spending Christmas Eve at our family friend’s apartment, or former family friends I should say, and it was a typical Russian gathe...
  • Nonfiction > All Nonfiction
    I stare at a pile of heavy books, and they stare back uninvitingly. I fidget once again as the muscle knots in my neck, shoulders, and back press deeper into my skin. Outside a western sun sets and thin branches sway mindlessly in the fall breeze. Through a birds song I hear the familiar tune of the...

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