The wanderer stopped at the side of the road, stooped down, and considered an apple that had settled itself into the muddy sluiceway. It did not appear to have come there naturally. There were apple trees in the distance, to be sure: Ghostly fingers reaching up into the late November sky, backed by a gray…
Month: November 2012
The abandoned dacha
That morning, I met with Oleg in the house in the valley at the bottom of the steep road that nobody with any sense would ever try to drive up, the one carved straight up the side of the hill because people in that part of the world had apparently never heard of switchbacks. I…
A Sad Pantoum, Mine
There was something about the trees: Their burning leaves, Curling up on the ground In a black-gray fog. Their burning leaves A dark sadness, full of regret In a black-gray fog. Dead fruit rotting on the earth: A dark sadness, full of regret, As our cold tongues inspired to speak like Dead fruit rotting on…