Missing the sign for Rosal, we drove far up the road on the wrong side of the River Naver before we turned and retraced our journey back over the bridge at Syre and found the place marked on the map. Hearing of the abandoned village—I’d thought of ghost towns and wooden buildings, tumbleweed, sand. But …
I find my daughter under things. Curled asleep cat-like under the mattress. Humming in the linen box with the lid closed. Sitting cross-legged beneath a nest of coats in my wardrobe, listening to a snippet of song on repeat. She feels safe in these places, a break from the clatter and confusion of life. It’s …
Places I Find My Daughter and Myself by Stephanie Carty Read More »
A bottle of holy water from Lourdes sat on the floor of the cloakroom, just inside the door, untouched by anyone except Ma who used it to refill the tiny china containers hanging on the walls of every room. Was the water used up by the dipping fingers which subsequently crossed chests looking for absolution …
I wake in my mosquito net cage. The morning din has begun: disco music blasting from the kiosk across the street, motors roaring, the berserk cries of the fighting cocks my uncle breeds. Light falls through the window slats and marks stripes that stretch like boredom across the bare floor. I am the last up. …
for E.L.H. This is a letter. Like most letters, it is for a recipient we all call you. Like most senders hope, I want the recipient to smile. Smile wide: like an ivory gorge. The first thing most people notice are teeth: are they soft and gleam, or are they tartar-stained and sharp? This letter …
“Where should we start?” I ask. “Maybe at either end,” shrugs the nurse. We glance at each other – my love and I – and nod in agreement. She takes the head, I take the feet, working towards each other. “Nice and warm,” I say. “Microwave,” says the nurse. “I can put in more if …
Westbound on the Mass Pike, with Cheryl and friends of ancient standing, I’m destined for a vacation at a woodsy cottage in the Catskills. It will be an indulgent luxury, and my anticipation is compounded with the joy of not driving and therefore not having to navigate the sclerotic reach between Worcester and I-84 at …
Jesus was drinking wine when the guests crashed onto the dinner table. Creatures the size of cats with small ears, pointy noses, and turquoise hair covering their bodies scurried around the turkey and knocked over bowls of corn and peas and carrots. A few lay on their backs around the mashed potatoes, pretending to play …