Anna Bolava

  SETTING FREE   I’m sitting in a gutted armchair in the middle of our dimly lit front hall, biding time. When I’m still, I hear...
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Hana Andronikova

The stars. Flickering lights in the darkness. I taught myself to recognize them. The Moon was a mute confessor who knew my secrets and innermost wishes. I had millions of plans and yearnings, but they were invariably conflated into one wish: I wanted it to be the end. The end of the war meant Mom would return home.

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