I had six children. First one, him boy. Next one, she girl. Then, girl. Then, girl. Again.
A cool night in San Cristobal de las Casas. A walk in search of a place to eat. Looking ahead, I saw lights, then the activity on the zocalo.
They told stories walking up from jungles and dead-dry deserts into the great dense of Europe, deciduous green, earth beaten by unknown animals. No doubt, when the night cooled or the forest stretched into a plainless horizon, the oldest spoke of desert stars,
The emphasis on “repatriation,” of an Australian Aboriginal bark art or the Indian Koh-i-Noor diamond, is contemporaneous with the liberal mass migration of our globalised, connected world.
Wilde’s tomb was covered in red lipstick kisses and a young goth man sat at its base reading a book of poetry.