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Sabbatical

Eduardo C. Corral
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Olive Oil Cake and a Raspberry 

It’s Wednesday night in California.  We sit on metal chairs, which shriek  like helicopter blades clattering across the cement  of a repurposed parking ...

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She senses that I’m surviving so she doesn’t want to bother me. When she calls me, I whisper, I’m in the library, and we don’t talk for days. It’s my fault that I forget ...

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Like Boccaccio’s idle rich, we tell ourselves stories  to avoid admitting we can’t  go back. The islands in my mind,  vaster than this island on a ...

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