Author Archives: Theodora Goss

Head of Aphrodite Cyprus, 510 B.C. by Theodora Goss All the beautiful figures rising from the waves, long toes gripping foam, arms raised to accept garlands of flowers, covered by their own golden hair or borrowed drapery, diaphanous as mist … Continue reading →

The Forest by Theodora Goss You took a photograph of the forest. At first I was not in it, just the trees made amethyst by twilight. And then I was, as though you had imagined me into the rising mist, … Continue reading →

A Room of Her Own by Theodora Goss Every woman must have a room where she can be completely herself. Where there are flowers on the table, roses and lilies in a vase inherited from her grandmother. Where there are … Continue reading →

Madeleine in the Bois d’Amour (Émile Bernard, 1892) by Theodora Goss The girl is picking a flower from the pink tree. Her hat is lying on the grass because it is springtime — the sun is shining, the forest behind … Continue reading →

The Hellebore by Theodora Goss It was January, and yet the green leaves of the hellebore still stuck out of last year’s leaf mold, mostly oak and maple, edged with frost (there was frost all over the garden), rising leathery … Continue reading →

Autumn by Theodora Goss The leaves are falling and falling, and you are gone. I lie alone while the sky fills up with darkness like a cup. Moonlight spills on the white pillow where you used to lie. An owl … Continue reading →

Furnishing My Grave by Theodora Goss Here are the things I want in my tomb: a cornstraw broom so my soul can fly to the moon and back, a small black stone polished until it shines like a mirror to … Continue reading →