The Letter

“If my memory serves me right, I had put my glasses right here” said Rosa as her wrinkled fingers touched the rosewood table in her well-lit study. She looked at the letter in her hand, sighed and continued searching for her glasses inside the desk drawer where she kept Bibi’s carrot bundle.

Rosa hadn’t searched far when she turned back to the table to find the pair reflecting the Tiger in a Tropical Storm by Henri Rousseau hanging from the opposite wall.

What in heavens! Rosa thought to herself. She was reaching out for her glasses when she heard the bulb directly above her explode. A cry left her throat as she tried to cover her eyes.

“Holy cranberries!” she shouted. Her glasses had disappeared again. Bibi scratched nervously at her cage in the far corner of the room. Rosa kept talking to her while searching around the rosewood table.

Out of nowhere, she heard a plop! and the sound of water being brought to boil in a kettle. She turned towards the entrance to the study where her electric kettle was usually kept for her evening tea and saw the appliance boiling water, and along with it, her glasses.

Rosa tried to make sense of what was going on. Trembling, she reached inside her blouse for her sacred thread covered in iron rings and amethyst beads and began reciting a prayer.

A filthy odour filled the room and everything in the house started shaking. Rosa’s fears started coming true but she did not stop her recitation. She pretended not to see the crows crying, banging on her windows as everything rattled violently. The moment she completed her prayer, just like a bad dream, everything disappeared.

Rosa took the glasses out from the empty kettle-never letting go of her rosary-and sat down beside Bibi, and opened the letter. Putting on her glasses, she read the letter trying to make sense of it all.

A heavy sigh left her lungs.

“Bibi,” she finally spoke, with her head resting on the wall as she looked up into nothing, “looks like you are the only family I have left.”

The door to the study creaked and the window opened to a silent night outside. Bibi let out a little purr. Rosa felt a cold breeze touch them both before dying in the lap of a hot June night.


I Am the Moon

I am the Moon, Love,
Travelling the universe with a barren soul
I am but a huge chunk of dust,
Wanting to feel whole.

I am the Moon, Love,
Reflecting the burning desires
And Passions of every soul I meet
And when they turn away, I turn cold
Cold to the very grooves in my feet


I was deemed undesirable by you
Of You, I was always a part
A part that was thrown into the void
And is remembered when the tumultuous tides stir your ocean’s heart

Now you look at me from afar
As I reflect someone else’s flare
Sighing at the night sky glittering behind me
Reminiscing our time as you are filled with despair.


Deceived are my lovers,
Considering themselves the center of my universe
For I was nothing but a mirror,
Recited back all the good and bad and then watched them disperse.

In the End, I am not one but many
A haunting presence, still reflecting
Because I am the moon, my Love,
Even when I’ll be gone, I will still be affecting.


Neven Krcmarek


I buried them

My treasures

My love and zeal

My gifts and my memories

The best of all

I buried my treasures

I wanted to protect them

From the world,

From myself and

In doing so

I forgot

The key to my happy place

I even forgot what I called treasure.

And the sky now wonders

As I have forgotten my reasons

Whether I will find them again


Or will they just be forgotten,

Like the sands of time.


Photograph by Marcelo Silva

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