Author Archives: Theodora Goss

Old Hungarian Women by Theodora Goss I see them sometimes, walking along the street, pulling wheeled shopping baskets behind them, or standing in the doorways of apartment houses, talking to one another. They wear scarves on their heads, or hats … Continue reading →

Portrait of a Lady by Theodora Goss She sits on a stone bench in the city park, under a bush of pink roses, probably something like Maiden’s Blush, because they have so many petals — you know the kind I … Continue reading →

The Pink Bugleweed by Theodora Goss Such an intricate construction, like the tower of Babylon, reaching to the sky, only about three inches high, rising from a glabrous rosette of leaves, its flowers pink and elegant, a ballet dancer of … Continue reading →

Planting Violets in the Rain by Theodora Goss The difference between me and a crazy old woman planting violets in the rain is — I’m not that old yet. But there I was, planting violets, while rain ran down my … Continue reading →

Persephone in Hades by Theodora Goss Poppies have never been my favorite flowers. Here they bloom all year long, if one can say a year in Hades, where no seasons pass, where summer never fades. Ironic, that — a land … Continue reading →

The Cinder Girl Burns Brightly by Theodora Goss Each night, her mother speaks to her out of the fire: come to me, my daughter. Come into the flames. And the Cinder Girl, the one they call Dirty Ella, even the … Continue reading →

Rabbits or Tulips by Theodora Goss I told the tulips that it’s not spring yet, but they’re not listening to me. Instead, they’re poking green leaves out of the ground, like the ears of rabbits, and I wonder, idly, if … Continue reading →