Poems - "Black Sea" and "Manhattan" in Minnetonka Review, Issue Three
http://minnetonkareview.com/issue_three.html

Black Sea
When Borislav tells me to eat the fish,
slender silver finger of it, head still on,
fried to a crisp, I do. This is how the older men
at the table next to us spend a late afternoon:
coffee, strong clear rakia, eggplant salad, fish.
They eye us, my foreign face.
The Black Sea’s barren bottom turns up
no seaweed to clutter the beach.
In the distance, a barge moves toward port,
blares Москва in red Cyrillic.
 
Kaloyan joins us, dons Oakley sunglasses
bought four years ago in Virginia
with American dollars earned slopping remains
of prime rib and tiramisu at the sink
of a casino’s restaurant. Our talk turns to the sea,
its waveless waters, anoxic, breathless,
and all they touch, the rotten undercurrent
of black market slave trade, young girls
hustled from Georgia’s villages
to the brothels of Turkey.
 
We stay into the night, then find a bar,
gypsy band, violin ripping through the ancient
walls of what was once catacombs,
then wine cellar, then prison.
Now all its secrets revealed in the singer’s voice,
the gold honey of her low notes so beautiful
we forget, breathe deep the thick air,
turn to each other, touch glasses, dance.


Nonfiction - Boston Globe online, Passport
"An Outstretched Hand to Peru's Street Children"
www.boston.com/news/world/blog/2009/01/post_5.html
www.ninoshotel.com



It is difficult to be alone for long in Plaza de Armas, the main square in Cusco, Peru. As my husband wanders to photograph one of the cathedrals, a young girl climbs onto my park bench. She sits close to me, practically in my lap, her small damp hand resting on my knee. “Hola!” She greets me. “Como te llamas?” This is a conversation my limited high school Spanish can handle... read more >