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the first

The yarmarka (farmer's market) is about to close. Some of the people are already packing up, offering their last bruised tomatoes at half-price to anyone walking past them.  I am wandering, staring at bunches of herbs, at the same old options - cabbage, pepper, potato, garlic, apple, cucumber. But then I see a pile of peas. The season must have come early this year. I buy a kilo, and some mint. I know what is for dinner. We have not had it in eleven months.

At home, I rip the bag open, showing them to V. She stands by the kitchen table, eyes wide. I crack one open, showing her the little rounds inside. She plucks one out, her pinky pointing to the ceiling.
"Try it." I tell her.
She does, but she does not like it.

I pull out a bowl for them. She jumps up and down a few times. V always wants to help in the kitchen. I pull her to my lap, and we begin pulling them out from the shells. She learns quickly, tossing them with a flourish into the bowl, a few cascading to the flo…

make you feel my love

Moscow in winter

work sets you free

coney island baby (licorice and Hershey bars)

Brooklyn Bridge (eggs and sausage)

an early Sunday morning

white riot

after the shoot

the ocean

combat boots and red socks

not even a whisper

the playground

orphans and old bones

that good tired

Their dogs must be barking

the road to the parade

not yet

Ouroboros

late summer

faces (a flood)

the reward for silence (a different person)

a series of surprises

the ocean waits

miniatures (a storm)

the hardest thing

the faucet (drawing a line in the sand is not as easy as I thought it would be)

best personal blogs
best personal blogs