ELEANOR STANFORD All summer, I sit on the porch, my son appearing, disappearing. Walls of rain or night, of larkspur, bleeding heart. The stone floor long ago lifted from the lion’s den. / Translator’s note: Having children is a way of remaking oneself.
ELEANOR STANFORD I don’t think, you said, you want to leave your husband. Our faces were pressed close together in the dark. No, I said quietly. The only way to guarantee the protection of certain cave structures is to guarantee the stability of the vegetation on the surface.
RIVER ADAMS Andrew told me later they’d just wanted me to hear a familiar melody, a familiar language. They didn’t speak Albanian, so they brought whatever melody they came across—exotic, intricate. Rhythmic. I knew the song: it was a ballad about murder and lost love.