Month: July 2015

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the old Georgian woman flees Gori, from the Russians: 8-11-08

I heard it. Tied my babushka around my face and opened my sturdiest bag. I placed within my afghan from my mother, and my silver watch my papa gave me; Ana’s poems— a sheaf pocked by my thumbs, I read so often to ease a shut-up winter’s night without her. And my good lace, that … Continue reading the old Georgian woman flees Gori, from the Russians: 8-11-08

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Weaning

  In a less healthy time, when I still wanted scads of babies—face after face dimpled with some impress of myself, and of my husband too I supposed—I met her. Isn’t it often the way: she had what I wanted but didn’t yet have—seven children—and so I thought I needed her friendship. She had other … Continue reading Weaning