For my mother
And other Russian women,
Whose songs I hear,
Whose thoughts I speak,
Whose dreams I dream

Kristina Gorcheva-Newberry

At The Sputnik Hotel

... My parents separated when I was two. My mother had gathered her most valuable possessions—a down pillow and me—and took off on a plane, from Erevan to Moscow. In 1976, after four years of desperate battle and several piles of tedious paperwork, my parents were officially divorced.” ... » read more

Published in The Truth About the Fact: International Journal of Literary Nonfiction 5.1 (Spring 2010)

Someplace Else

... At nine, we thought that everything was possible, everything was absolute-the world still held its magic, was still ours to explore and savor, to have and to hold. We climbed trees and hid in the hollows of their bellies when it snowed or rained. We marveled at new, unfurling leaves, caught butterflies in pickle jars and watched their fragile wings batter against the glass. We dug up and dissected worms, scrutinizing the severed parts still crawling on the pavement. We bickered, we argued, we dreamed. ... » read more

Published in The Southern Review 45.2 (Spring 2009): 268-274.

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