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Little Apples by Theodora Goss I gathered the little apples even though the wasps told me the apples were theirs. They would alight on an apple, a ripe one of course, and suck out its sweetness. Under the tree, the … Continue reading →

Sorrow Song by Theodora Goss Sorrow, Sorrow, come to me, comb my hair, lay out the dress I planned to wear. Let it be my wedding dress or my shroud. Luckily, white linen does not fade. Walk with me, hand … Continue reading →

The Pond Beneath the Willows by Theodora Goss I found a secret pond beneath the willows where the ground was carpeted with creeping charlie. Reeds grew around it, and in the lake beyond were the leaves, floating on the water, … Continue reading →

Theoretical Physics by Theodora Goss Maybe gravity is how the Earth loves us, holding on to us, bringing us back to her no matter how high we jump or fly, like a careful mother with her arms stretched out, always … Continue reading →

String Quartet by Theodora Goss The violin speaks to the violin and the viol interrupts. The cello adds its opinions, intermittently. They are like a dysfunctional family, arguing with one another, saying different things, and yet out of disharmony comes … Continue reading →

The Nest by Theodora Goss I found a nest about the size of my hand fallen to the ground in the park around the Magyar Nemzeti Múzeum, which contains artifacts from throughout Hungarian history — starting with the Neolithic, through … Continue reading →

In the Mátra (for Norbert) by Theodora Goss The rock ladies thought it was rude when I asked about their age. “How old are these rocks?” I asked. And of course they heard me, the craggy, lichen-covered rock ladies with … Continue reading →