Contributed By: Katerina Stoykova-Klemer, Valentin Dishev
Nobody cries
for the rock
turned into a statue.
There is no one to mourn
the statue,
on its patient way
to dust…
I want to praise the scar.
You shall know them by their scars.
* * *
Никой не плаче
за камъка,
превръщан в статуя.
Няма кой да оплаче
статуята,
по търпеливия път
към прахта…
Искам да възпея белега.
По белезите им ще ги познаете.
Return to table of contents for Issue 7 Summer 2013
This story was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. The paint had chipped off of one of Mary’s eyes and the other had faded and begun to fleck off in places, mutating her maternal gaze into something more sinister, full of agony. I held eye contact with those eyes or, the one eye and the plaster […]
Return to table of contents for PRACTICES, POWER & THE PUBLIC SPHERE Return to table of contents for Issue 2 Winter 2010
Don’t worry. Everything will make sense. Just not our kind of sense with our kind of senses. The pyramids were built on sand and that is why they last. Petunias, the exuberant and yet sad flower: Judy Garland without show business. The sea is not impressed by anything. Even if the sea crawls past us […]
