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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…

oh banjola (goodnight 2017)

girlfriend experience

no words

the daughters of time

this must go

on refrigerators

every other man

Heaven is a place (where nothing ever happens)

trespasses

where are the lovely strawberries

Not me, her

no one wears white

this is Monday

a peaceful protest

the immigrant and the exile

an anniversary

the man on the ladder

a scream, a howl

no answer (the melon seller)

Breathing the right air

the forbidden zone

underfoot (rare air)

on vacation (see you next week)

approaching the unknown

coming clean

babel

small change (exceptions)

cold nostalgia

best personal blogs
best personal blogs