The windowless theater makes it impossible to keep track of the days, but I am certain that years have passed since Fyodor’s last visit. I fear that he has died while his magic has not, for here I still stand, a swan maiden poised forever on pointe. Forever cursed. I often wonder how our Swan Lake tableau […]
Maurice showed me his twin brother by lifting up his shirt and pointing to the teeth growing out of his stomach. They were in a half circle: five, firm, small pebbles. The edge of an ear protruded above them like a fish gill. Maurice dropped his sweatshirt back over it. “There’s a bunch of cells […]
His love is alchemy; his touch transmutes. I turn to gold at his faintest glance.
“Do I have a mother?” he asks me. He is precocious. Every father thinks his son is special, but I know. His eyelashes are so fine they are almost transparent. His skin is the color of ripe wheat. He is as beautiful as his mother, but more so, because she was so full of fear. She was a creature of shadows, and my boy is all sunlight.