Reading Room Archives - Page 55 of 110

Handbook for Travellers

Sep 1, 2005 | Fiction, Reading Room

In Arabic, her father put questions to the old man. Whether these were advice seeking, or advice giving, Safia could not be sure. She never came to understand what her grandfather wanted from any of them. In Arabic, her father put questions to the old man. Whether...

In the Absence of Wings

Jun 28, 2005 | Fiction, Reading Room

As she sails over the barbed wire fence, a hot dry wind behind her, the cow thinks of birds. How useful wings might be at a time like this. Her spindly legs crumple and pink udders squash as the round of her girth meets the hard of the ground. Parched weeds prickle...

Wedding Anniversary

Jun 28, 2005 | Poetry, Reading Room

He has eaten so much duck that he cannot talk to his wife the memory of the duck skin slips past his tongue to catch and clutch in his throat while a small bit of duck meat is stuck in the back molar of his closed mouth and the scent of Chinese spices and sweet fruit...

He Wants Me to Describe It

Dec 20, 2003 | Poetry, Reading Room

The winner of Room's 2002 poetry contest, judged by Joelene Heathcote. My friend wants to know what I think of when I panic. I pause in front of lit shop windows of long wrap-around scarves, beaded necklines and Indian silks. Absence, abandonment are the words but...

A Visit

Sep 18, 2002 | Poetry, Reading Room

The second-place winner of our 2001 poetry contest. at Christmas I stare and stare at your daughters who look so eerily like you. your older girl seems all right, I know you’d be glad. she’s a regular kid, plays with ponies, laughs in shrieks. it’s only sometimes I...

Pink Lilies

Sep 18, 2002 | Poetry, Reading Room

The winner of our 2001 poetry contest. You are a woman who lusts after pink lilies, the open mouths of inlets blurred by mist. Nothing is ever simple. A man who says he loves his wife but runs his hands over you. You stamp and shiver, steam like a horse in rain. You...

Hot

Apr 18, 2002 | Poetry, Reading Room

She is waiting for the end of another beginning, woman, always changing: now the heat is in the core. She is waiting for the end of another beginning, woman, always changing: now the heat is in the core. She is saying goodbye to the moon’s pull, rhythm of tides;...

Chicken

Apr 18, 2002 | Fiction, Reading Room

I think I smell like alcohol. I’m sitting, eating a doughnut and thinking about last night. I wonder if my liver is O.K.; if I keep this up, I’ll kill myself. No, if I keep this up, I’ll become my mother. I think I smell like alcohol. I’m sitting, eating a doughnut...

Regina Leigh

Aug 16, 1999 | Fiction, Reading Room

Slivers of cut grass stick to my calves and hands. Sweat soaks my bra. I am sweating. Not glowing, as Mom calls it. Sweating. I want the dirt, the remains of our lawn, off me. It hasn’t been mowed in months and is taking over what little landscaping we have. No one...