With lungs full of nature's magic the mighty Bear's Mother seems so small Floating above the open fields without care while perched upon the dacha's roof The smell of the young boar's flesh inspires intended regression As the sun seeps through our open wound no memory of coming or going nor time or space Only a glimpse of the Chechen and my heart left behind
Expands beyond the safety of pages bound by predictability to explore and often confirm exciting creative possibilities. A shimmering collage of memoir, creative nonfiction, literary journalism, and dizzying flights into poetic observation, this is t
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