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Claudea

CLAUDEA  discovered art through music in her teenage years, which led her to study Design at the National University of Arts in Bucharest, Romania. After graduating, she went on exploring and lived in Italy experimenting with art and jewelry making, before moving to the United Kingdom. She currently lives in London, where she works full-time and spends her free time painting.

Caterpillar by Dragana Mokan
translated from the Serbian by John K. Cox

February 6, 2023 Contributed By: Claudea, Dragana Mokan, John K. Cox

This image depicts a painting of differently sized and patterned circles in hues of black and yellow, and it is reminiscent of looking through a microscope at cells.

Agnica was sitting in a pink room that smelled sweet. Mama had sent her to the neighbors to get a bouquet. She accepted a plate of cake from Miss Jovanka.

Filed Under: Featured Translation, Fiction, Translation Posted On: February 6, 2023

Sons
by Bodie Fox

December 22, 2022 Contributed By: Bodie Fox, Claudea

"Isolation" by Claudea

A drop of water splashes on her face when I lift my foot, silt clinging to my sole. She gently cradles my heel in her hand as she wets a corner of the rag. A school of tadpoles swim by. A crooked grin breaks over his teeth. The rag tickles, but my stomach curls. Sons and I don’t look at each other while she works between my toes.

Filed Under: Featured Fiction, Fiction Posted On: December 22, 2022

This is the part
by Francine Witte

December 15, 2022 Contributed By: Claudea, Francine Witte

"The Other Side" by Claudea

where I believe that it was the goddamn fault of the night willow, that if it hadn’t been so blacked out like it was, bowed so brushy and low, you could have seen your way around it. Could have driven a clean road home like you do every night, except this one.

Filed Under: Featured Fiction, Fiction Posted On: December 15, 2022

Evelyn Nesbit Poses as Bluebeard’s Wives
by Rose DeMaris

December 12, 2022 Contributed By: Claudea, Rose DeMaris

"A Million Breaths" by Claudea

My abundant hair, my only wealth, fits so easily
in his fist. I pull the soft stem of his handrolled cigarette
from my lips, which he told me are a pair of petals

Filed Under: Featured Poetry, Poetry Posted On: December 12, 2022

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