Author Archives: Theodora Goss

The Red Lilies by Theodora Goss This morning, the lilies are on fire, metaphorically. I don’t know where such passion comes from, unless maybe they’re in love with the light falling on them through the window: a cold winter light, … Continue reading →

Valentine’s Day by Theodora Goss This is the coldest day of the year so far — the kind of cold that hurts you to the bone, that says to impatient bulbs, stay underground: the world is dead, there’s nothing for … Continue reading →

Chrysanthemums by Theodora Goss These are the ragged flowers present at every gravesite. Imagine a cloud of petals like a ruffled cockatoo, like a slice of wedding cake with the narrow end eaten, a pile of lace with leaves as … Continue reading →

Water Lilies, 1907 by Theodora Goss When he painted them, was he tired? Did he have to brush away a hovering dragonfly? You can tell he loved the water, because the painting is not of lilies but of water in … Continue reading →

The Apple Orchard by Theodora Goss I have lived every day in this world not knowing who I was, distinct from any other person or where I was going, except maybe to the grocery store. Not knowing whether I had … Continue reading →

The Ghost by Theodora Goss At night, when the others are all asleep in their beds, dreaming the incoherent dreams of the night, I sit in this room, alone by the light of the lamp, and I write. Are my … Continue reading →

Goldilocks and the Bear by Theodora Goss They met when they were children. She was a thief, yellow-haired, small for her age, only twelve years old, already hardened by poverty, already a noted pickpocket, stealing into the bears’ house. He … Continue reading →