Narrow labyrinth paths that fret memories: a homeless woman, I am a mother on a bus, who sees a woman and says to herself, it is my daughter.
“Make a list for St. Nicholas,” mother says. I write: fairy tale book and dark blue ski pants.
“Do you want this beautiful stamp?” “When your friend sees it, she’ll love it.” “It is for my sister,” I say. “She won’t see it. She is blind.”
Dressed in costumes to disguise their identity, people in rural communities would visit the home of newly married couples to offer their mock serenade, with horns, whistles, drums, and wild dancing.
oh my beloved village
forests, pine woods
where are you going?
in a dead zone
Siege of Budapest Christmas Eve 1944
Can writing be taught? The spark, the life, the essence… can this be taught?
Ilona Martonfi’s Blue Poppy is a rallying cry against oppression. Ilona Martonfi considers herself a poet-activist. While her first book of poetry, Blue Poppy, might initially read like the dirge of a brutal marriage, the subject matter changes meaning in light of her activism. “I am talking about freedom,” said Martonfi. “Freedom from violence, wherever […]
I worked in father’s bakery. Peeled potatoes for potato bread. Melted dark chocolate. Washed copper pots and whisks and baking sheets. Swept wide-plank oak floors.
How illness brings you closer to family.