Nonfiction

Red Wine Pasta

You are sitting on the large bed at the far right corner of the room watching him fold his carton-coloured pants and signature long-sleeved, striped shirts into...

Object Permanence

1. The first time my father disappears, I believe he’s gone forever. He slips behind a veil of his own fingers, and everything I know about him—his twinkling...

Spring in Chisinau

Gorgeous morning in the awakened city, fresh new green, the angled rays of the sun glittering in spider webs, birds twittering, the fragrance of buds, grass dre...

Abracadabra

Abracadabra It was once a word with power, before hokey top hats and scarves stuffed up sleeves: write it on papyrus eleven times, dropping the final letter ...

Blue Water

Deda Vitya, my father’s father, is in the hospital now, and we are with him. My father’s standing over his father’s bed. At the end of a blood test. White str...

Knuckleball

I see: everything. Yefim’s fist, French fries jutting between tattooed fingers. He scans the line, yellow-green eyes sharpening, tickets under plates. One thing...