Margaret Foley tries to pack light when she travels, but she always ends up bringing one too many pairs of shoes. She currently lives in Portland, Oregon, where she is an editor at Oregon Home Magazine. Her writing has appeared in numerous publications, including The Christian Science Monitor, Ilya’s Honey, and Opium Magazine. She would like to go back to India someday, but doesn’t feel the need to repeat a train trip she took in 1991 from Warsaw to Moscow in February in an unheated train compartment.
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More from The Journal
- Poetry
By Henry Walters
We followed her in, a stray, the fattest & first, the temple cat./
In a niche by the altar she crouches, watches them come: the/
mad parade we’d wanted, this troupe of heretics — the ass,/
alpaca, gyrfalcon — unbroken line of celebrants, creatures ...
- Poetry
By Ksenia Rychtycka
Mother comes to me as I’m making honey cake, /
measuring out sugar then whipping eggs. /
Never mind that Mother left this earth /
eighteen months earlier...
- Poetry
By Rimas Uzgiris
The trolley bus won’t go. /
Its reins have fallen from the wires.
- Poetry
By Maryann Corbett
I miss things: swooping, diving, passionate voices/
in several African tongues, so far beyond me/
they might as well have beamed from the constellations.
- Poetry
By Pui Ying Wong
Here’s the river I stepped in more than twice.// I can’t see them but I know the boats/
are going by in the sturdy fog...
- Poetry
By R L Swihart
And now you explore the hidden pockets and come up/
with a City Guide (in English) you picked up in Amsterdam./
Why did I keep that? Where were we going? But she’s/
not there to answer
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