This time of year snow fills the long, white porcelain pots
on a balcony in Albania where grandma Garufala grew red chilies
for her husband. She learned Albanian from the radio, danced
in cobblestone streets as her cousins played guitar. The night
they crossed the border, she danced one last time for them
as they sang Garufala me mallia varya*. They never met again.
Last year I married you. You left Orissa to live with me.
This time of year, snow falls in my grandparents’ little town.
You, like my grandfather, love chilies. I slice them into thin rings
and throw them in a round, white porcelain cup filled with Kikkoman.
We have basil chicken for supper and you let me take your last bite,
like a promise for me to outlive you. I spy black caterpillars
crawling all over our windows. In a few days, they will turn
to dozens of yellow-lime butterflies and fly off
to who knows where. They will not come back.
* from Greek, “Garufala with the heavy hair.”
It’s snowing in a way that reminds me
of people who rarely complain.
I imagine the oldest woman eating bread: silent,
half asleep, softly chewing mngna and mngna.
I am thankful for snow
and the black stillness of evergreens
the way they line up on the street
here in my New England.
I have made it mine, the way
a young girl finds someone’s lipstick
and makes it hers.
It doesn’t matter that it’s half used
it matters that it’s lipstick and she wears it
down to her chin.
About the author
Born and raised in Albania and married to an Indian poet, Ani Gjika transfered to the U.S. at 18 and is currently a teaching…
Read the full bioIssue 11 · January 2011
Table of contents
- From the editors
- Poetry
- Ars Longa, Vita Brevis by Joshua Michael Stewart
- The White Village by Daniel Aristi
- [PostScript] by Helen Vitoria
- Raising the Dead by Ian Khadan
- Nashville by Janice D. Soderling
- Navigation by Donna Vorreyer
- Instead of a Hand Feathered by a Fountain Pen by R L Swihart
- Cologne by Rick Mullin
- Two Poems by Ani Gjika by Ani Gjika
- Manifest by Lisa Ortiz
- Market in Marseilles by Stephen Harvey
- Postcard Prose
- The Well by Annabella Massey
- Long Distance by Arlan Hess
- Midnight Voices by Matthew Zanoni Müller
- Travel Notes
More from The Journal
- Postcard Prose
By Kelly Hill
Trying to wrap my mind around living on a tropical island for thirteen years and never once seeing the ocean, I stumbled through my Indonesian vocabulary to say, It’s good. It’s big.
- Travel Notes
By Sandra Larson
A dinosaur dangles over my grandson at the Field Museum near a pink thumb that pops into the prom picture of my granddaughter dressed in strapless red leaving her house in Medina …
- Travel Notes
By Megan Hallinan
The bill in question is actually a 2,000 West African franc note, and it’s the equivalent of about four U.S. dollars. A helpful sum, really, but as I clutch the weathered crinkle in my sweaty palm, its value feels as dirty as the grime that is undoubtedly being transferred to my fingers.
- Poetry
to Egg and Berry brewery, to the pack / of Czechy words I made but didn’t work / in this pink town. I’d readily go back / to your best spots, the unfired gun, that perk //
- Poetry
By Jason Warren
And if the neap tides of my beauty / sadden him, I cannot help it: / I hang high, the waxy night light …
- Poetry
By Anastasia Vassos
Three thousand ancestors ask how I straddle / the sea, a foot on either shore. //
Read more Poetry or Postcard Prose