GRANDE DAME LITERARY POSTS

Delisia considered herself to be the good daughter. Blond and slight, she had majored in economics before going on to get a master’s degree in architecture, her ambition driving her to apply for scholarships and marry her way into a higher income bracket. Even an early divorce had not lessened her stature in the family hierarchy as her parents reacted kindly by saying that they hadn’t really liked the husband all that much. Aline, three years younger, was certainly no black s

Every autumn, a puzzle takes over our house—and, somehow, our lives. What starts as a small box of scattered cardboard quickly grows into a season-long obsession. It’s part hobby, part decoration, part social experiment, and part silent competition between family members who all claim to ‘just be helping.’ We have a folding table that migrates from room to room depending on the season, chasing the best light like a spoiled cat with commitment issues. Sometimes it’s in the liv

The first time I touched a dead person, I was ten years old at my grandfather’s funeral. I stared at his profile because I was not tall enough to look down at his face. I noticed that the end of his nose turned slightly downward. My Aunt Thelma set a chair next to the casket. She helped me kneel on the seat of the chair for a better view.             I looked. It was Grampa for sure. As I turned to descend from the chair, Aunt Thelma said, “Carol, would you like to kiss Gramp

Your words chosen oh so carefully.   Beautifully. “I want to know you. Tell me anything and everything.”   Recklessly. “Let’s move away from here. We can start over, somewhere warmer.”   You led me down the most romantic path saying, “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”   I smiled all the way thinking there would be flowers, diamonds, and a stroller at the end. But it only led to slaughter.   Two cuts: first shallow— “I don’t feel the same,” then deep— “No, we ca

Early morning, summer sun fills the study with peaceful yellow light. Already at my desk, reading emails, inhaling strong coffee, pondering a suitable response to the solicitor, hopefully one of the last I will ever need to write. Unravelling a life, my life; the journey through a tunnel of a thousand emotional miles is nearly complete. Finally I am beginning to see light, have a sense of a future, wonder what might be next. As if on cue my laptop emits a soft PING, it’s his

Where is one to go when love has departed? When breath wavers, my throat tightens, and only despair fills my lungs?   My wounds burn with saltwater grief— it always comes in waves. Unlike the tide, it doesn’t recede quickly. I grit my teeth in the sting. I will remain by the water.   Pacing the dock by day, sitting atop the lighthouse by night. The shore is now my home. Here I may be found, while I wait for love’s return.   His voyage long, his journey hard fought. His soul w

It’s a cake made mostly of air, sluiced in scents of sugar, white chocolate and lemon. Cooled, melted chocolate spun first into the batter, then into cream for the frosting. Doing her part to hold the fragile tower in line is homemade curd of Meyer lemons. Baked for a friend’s birthday 40-some years ago, I’ve tried twice to recreate the cunning confection. I woke this morning thinking that I should try to make this cake again. Then I remember how my neck and back turn to fir

After months that had faded along with my energy into years, after I’d gone to my family doctor complaining about my debilitating ear pain, unusual sensations in my mouth and other odd symptoms, I was worn out more than anything else. My last bit of fight went into getting my referral to an infectious disease specialist. A random conversation with a friend who mentioned post-herpetic neuralgia following shingles left me thinking that the headaches that rendered me immobile an

I saw us in the sunrise this morning as my plane was taking off, flaming glow of my wild heart against the calm blue backdrop of your bold humility. I saw us in the family of six sitting in the row ahead. Glimpsing the future we dreamed, I felt like I was looking at you, me, us— four young sons, my eyes blue, your smile wide, my reservation, your responsibility. I saw us on the drive to the Cape, your spirit lingering in the changing leaves, mirroring your metamorphosis— crim

For Mickey   Two old women, friends for over four decades, have been meeting this way for years at a boutique hotel in a horse racing town in upstate New York. Immense hanging ferns draped across a front-facing,   pristine porch, anchor four days of talking about their joys and sorrows, their evolving lives, in the company of their silent companion, death. She keeps a tight lip but takes up space just the same.   They have a long history of speaking truthfully, however old ag

Memories of that school trip to Tasmania are few. I remember a triple-arched bridge spanning a river, I remember wandering from the group to stare and stare at the bridge framing the view. I remember the bleak stones of Port Arthur, the thick, sweet smell inside the Cadbury Chocolate Factory, barrels full of foil-wrapped chocolates, uniform-wrapped staff with hairnets above eyes that did not return gaze. I can’t recall a single conversation with a classmate. I remember the co

Another yearly GYN exam today, and as it turns out, my last. After a brief discussion, the nurse practitioner and I concur that at my age I can opt out of all preventive GYN care. For fifty-some years I’ve dutifully yielded to stirrups, vaginal speculums & specimen collections, even as I winced and tensed, and wished I could somehow resist, fight the invasion of instruments, swabs and fingers. Mammograms— gone! Breast & bone density exams float out of my line of vision. No he

My first true love Rachel and I were spooning after a wilder than usual morning screw, snuggled up under my down comforter. Sunday was one of my few days off from the Los Angeles Zoo, where I was in charge of the Reptile House, so I was blissing out, about to fall back to sleep, my dick nestled against Rachel’s bare, gorgeous ass. I could hear her gnawing on her thumb nail, which she did when she was stressed.             Then she said, “Greg, you know you have tiny balls.”  

I remember trips with my mom to Baskin-Robbins as a kid. She would take my sisters and me after ballet class on sunny afternoons. I remember peering over the glass counters, looking down at the tubs of creamy frozen goodness. I can't recall the names of the flavors, but the colors remain vivid thirty years later: pink, light blue, mint green, and neon orange, a work of art for my eyes designed in the colors of Easter, arranged like a box of pastel-colored chalk, illuminated b

A wintry wind whispers among bare branches In upland fields, a gale howls through frozen hawthorn A mad east wind storms and screams in frenzied fury over abandoned graves and broken crosses Sleet sweeps across Alpine pastures In the fold the sheep bleat pitifully Icy rain incessantly rattles a broken window Snow falls lightly on a transformed landscape Moonlight is filtered through a sea mist throwing dappled light on dark waters Waves dribble up cold, wet sand Sea ice roars

Guinevere knew exactly what her breaking point had been in her wretched marriage to Charlie, which had seemed like salvation then only to end up like a curse. Girls who come from bad family situations are often scooped up by men who seek them out for their vulnerability, their lack of protection — not to save but to exploit them. She knew for a fact she had never loved Charles. But she wondered if Charles had loved her — not her, but who he had thought she was. Because she

In the barn the cattle’s breath floats, a warm mist touched by the smell of dung and straw. In the fold, the sheep huddle, their rhythmic bleating, softly reassuring. In the farm kitchen a red glow throws shadowy flames flickering across the walls. Wet boots dry out on the hearth. The sound of snow, softly reassuring. From the warm parlour the notes of a piano sound out over the white wilderness; old, familiar tunes, softly reassuring. BIO Sarah Das Gupta is a poet from Cambr