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Catch by Allison Cobb
What moment was
the moment
my mom died.
We weren’t sure
my dad and I—
we hold that
hard gift close
between—the
us that makes
us selves who
stood beside
her birdlike
curled in—
Oh. It is
a moment—breath
and then
it stops—that’s
real, declare
the time—we had
a clock there, red
with numbers—
Mom.
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“Kind of a Short-length Letter for a Full-length Film” by Luis Miguel Rivas (translated from the Colombian Spanish by Valentina Calvache) Artwork by Daniela Moreno Ramirez
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This story is from Rivas’ debut in the Latin American fiction industry: an anthology of short stories written from one of Colombia’s literary outcasts — he didn’t gain recognition until the Guadalajara Book Fair named him one of Latin America best-kept secrets, and his works went through the roof, with translations in French and the signing of his latest novel with Sony Pictures.
“Kind of a Short-length Letter for a Full-length Film” is a magnificent story that encloses and discloses — at the same time — Colombian reality seen through the eyes of a sharp writer,
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Love Made Bruises by Alison Stine
On my hill I remember teeth.
The winter house cracked.Cockroaches came from dark rivers.
The town exhausted its salt.Love made bruises, drawing up
the blood like poison from bees.We are never going to make it
through this winter, this winter,everyone said. No one used glasses,
only jars. He bit, then apologized.Schools closed for days. Roads
closed for days. The fire truckblocked the mouth of my street.
I went to sleep with light spitting.I bought ice grips.
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TNS After Hours June Reading
Please join TNS After Hours and LIT Magazine as we celebrate black writers and the legacy of Juneteenth. Hosted by Heran Abate and Jasmine Respess, and moderated by Alex Vara.
Grab a seat and something to sip as we share the room with the talents of:
Heran Abate
Vic Collins
Nicole Drayton
Miss LPK
Jasmine Respess
Victoria Richards
Leslie King
*
Click here tonight at 7pm to join!
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I Promise Not to Behave by Sharon Mesmer
— after and for Lydia Tomkiw (US, 1959 — 2007)
You slip your purple glitter turban on,
Spread my tarot cards on the table and whisper:
“I see a fever has crawled into you.”
I roll my eyes:
“Scarlet? Or yellow?”
You squint through the velvety knots of your lashes:
“Too early to tell.”
“What kind of an answer is that?” I demand.
“I don’t know,” you sneer,
“How many kinds are there?”We’re in your parents’ kitchen on Oakley.
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“Elisa” excerpt from the novel The One We Adored by Catherine Cusset (translated from the French by Armine Kotin Mortimer) Artwork by Ilan Averbuch
“Elisa”
excerpt from the novel
The One We Adored
by Catherine CussetIn this novel, Catherine speaks in the first person and addresses Thomas in the second, as if telling him the story of his life.
At the dinner I arrange for my husband’s birthday at the end of February, you meet Elisa. You are astonished to discover that this name, with its exotic sonorities, is simply spelled “Elisa,” not, as if it were French, “I-Laïza.” Even more surprised to see that this exotic Elisa I’ve been telling you so much about is so beautiful.
