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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Jitka N. Srbova

My daughter marches through the forest. She can’t do it herself, so / she uses my legs, my eyes and my fear.

Jiri Kolar

Sit down at the table / and clear your mind / Take a pen / and write your beloved’s first name / across a whole sheet of blank paper

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