Oct 30, 2014 by Qristina
“a wound from a word remains” For my family, words were everything. Not the stale stamped written word, but the...
Oct 21, 2014 by Qristina
I carry my ancestors bones on my tongue. Chipped and broken they clatter against my teeth, leaves in the wind of my speaking....
Oct 17, 2014 by Qristina
“You have your father’s eyes,” they told me, scowling, as though I had come in the night and stolen them from him...
Oct 10, 2014 by Qristina
I remember the first time I spoke out, the word “Holocaust” stumbling from my lips and falling heavily on the table in...
Oct 7, 2014 by Qristina
O Lajošis sas ciknoro. Sas baro mariben u phenďa kija peste: „Džava kijo partizana, chudava puška, murdarava paru Ňemcen u avava pale...
Posted on Dec 6, 2013
Posted on May 1, 2014
Posted on Jan 11, 2013
Posted on Dec 10, 2013
Posted on Dec 9, 2012
Designed by Elegant Themes | Powered by WordPress