Rose dances the tango for the sun
They took the words out of her, imprisoned behind scars and threats. They told her she was wrong, that she might be crazy, when she told them the … Continue reading They
I have performed my act of remembrance, as I am required. I have remembered the fallen soldiers and those who remain behind to mourn. I have watched the Governor … Continue reading November 11, Remembrance Day
I wish I’d had a conversation with you, Wren.
When you speak with me, you hear the stories of the spheres,
The stories are living and breathing. The stories are in dreams.
. . .I shall journey in my copper-sided, fish-shaped coffin . . .
. . .I was always young. Demure, but sprightly, ready to dance gaily if the fifes and drums, or the fiddle struck up a springtime dance. . . .
I know a long green woman . . . whose face is high beyond the mountain’s reach . . .
. . . Sentences of instruction and thanksgiving adorn moss-covered, stone altars. . . .
. . . Her words are in the green faces you painted when your words were locked . . .
Welcome. The Zetta Angus Papers consist of short fiction, essays, and poetry, some new and some older. Thank you for visiting.