The Wistful Saga
Do you think a line drawn in snow can hold back a river? I woke with the taste of iron in my mouth, sharp and metallic, like the lead dust that settled in my hair after a long shift at the typesetter’s desk. The dream was there again, the red line crossing my throat, not a cut but a boundary, a limit I had crossed. I am Vera Kolar. I am forty-two. For twenty years I have kept the border at the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews