Copperfield Review's Blog, page 6
July 20, 2020
Rosalind Adam
All Grandmas spoke Yiddish when I was five. I now understand she came from far away bringing her feather bed for winter night snuggling and her candlesticks for Friday evening prayers. She never spoke of the journey, of being … Continue reading →
July 6, 2020
Beatriz F. Fernandez
Father Abelard, they call me—father, who shall never be one again. Even this reminder cannot break me, though my love for you was torn from my breast as violently as my manhood from my flesh. When I met you, you … Continue reading →
June 23, 2020
Avra Margariti
Stuttgart, 1942 The baker, the butcher, the florist— they all call him my brother. But no common blood runs between our veins. We didn’t grow up together, Ansel and I. We just wish to grow old side by side. … Continue reading →
June 12, 2020
Aurora M. Lewis
I had my own ways, spirts and chants to see me through Until them girls, both named Sarah wanted to learn what I do I showed ‘em how to dance by the light of the moon, my conjuring … Continue reading →
June 1, 2020
Dorothy Baird
Arrival (William, aboard the Transport, departed London, July 4, 1635) At dawn our ship tacks into the James River, heads northwest toward James Towne, toward land promised me. The Transport rocks under my feet, the only … Continue reading →
May 18, 2020
In Love Rebound
Grand Oak Plantation, Northeastern Maryland Colony: 1665 Deep in a dream, Stephen laid his winning cards on the table in a London alehouse. As the cards left his hand, the table tipped; the cards slid onto the floor and into … Continue reading →
May 5, 2020
John W. Steele
War Elephant —after Akbar Viewing a Wild Elephant Captured near Malwa in 1564 Hind legs bound and tied to tree, you stand there poised, ears back, trunk coiled. Captive, yet you stand with such fierce dignity, stamping the earth with your … Continue reading →
April 15, 2020
bg Thurston
The Lost Boy— Winfield Scott Weeks (1847-1856) watches from the front window, murmurs as he strokes the ears of his smooth collie, who thumps her long tail, hoping for a walk. The rooms are empty, the hearth cold and quiet, … Continue reading →
April 6, 2020
The Plain Man’s Portrait
It was a Saturday morning in late Autumn. Pale sunshine was burning off the last of the mist from the Thames, revealing the faint outlines of horses towing barges down river to London. Closer by, a heron perched, neck craned, … Continue reading →
March 19, 2020
Miss Lucy: An Excerpt
October, 1878 But who hath seen her wave her hand? Or at the casement seen her stand? Tennyson 1. The first time he saw the ghost, Bram Stoker was hiding behind the safety curtain that hung neatly out of … Continue reading →
