Author Archives: Theodora Goss

Poetry, Damn It by Theodora Goss Sometimes the words won’t do what you want them to. (The image is Woman Writing by Pierre Bonnard.)

The Country of Myself by Theodora Goss There are days on which I return to the country of myself and close the borders. I order the trains to stop running, and ground the airplanes. Barriers are erected at the checkpoints. … Continue reading →

Sun and Moon by Theodora Goss Sometimes you forget that you are magical. Sometimes you forget that the moon keeps her face turned earthward just so she can watch over you — she is so jealous of the sun, who … Continue reading →

The Photograph by Theodora Goss Forgive me, he said, for sending you a picture of myself. But there, you see, in the background are some interesting hills, and on the lake there is a heron as blue as the lake. … Continue reading →

Wild Heart by Theodora Goss Wild heart, why do you lament? The autumn winds blow cold, and leaves lie on the pavement in heaps of crimson and gold. The river sleeps under panes of ice, the grass on its banks … Continue reading →

As the Days Pass by Theodora Goss As the days pass, as we talk less and less, you seem more and more like someone I made up, a bedtime story to keep away the dark, a bulwark against the night … Continue reading →

Nonsense Sonnet by Theodora Goss You’re sad and I’m sick, and I’ve run out of words. You’re sick and I’m sad, and there are no more chords. We speak a different language, that the birds understand, but you are too … Continue reading →