Nóra Ugron’s Reviews > Twenty-Ninth Year > Status Update

In the exile's suitcase, a carpet of dead grass. Seven persimmons. A dandelion stem skinny as a grenade pin.

Define 'in', I say when anyone asks if I've ever been in a war. I smoked pot with a guy I've known for ages. I slept through the airport bombing. When the window facing the road shattered, I kept a piece in my mother's glove compartment.

What do we do with heartache? Tow it.