The muezzin, awake to God, awakes us,
Crying; his words splinter inside our ears,
While daylight sparks upon the splintered sea.
Look! The Bosphorus shines like bone. Next, blue dusk
Boils among black palms and gold minarets.
Then, night—fat with stars—shelters an Eden
Of exchange: Flood our mouths with wine and kisses;
That welling fanaticism is Want.
"All of Toronto seemed to have shown up for that awful production!" Phil complained.
"It wasn't so dreadful, was it?" someone asked.
Sybill's eyes lit up, and she almost rose out of her seat to add:
"Yes, and didn't Millie say she saw Christopher Plummer in the lobby?" Everyone turned to her end of the table. This was the first thing she had said since the three couples had arrived from a nearby theatre.
Him: Dirty gypsy. [He spits.]
Kora: This is my spot. Get lost.
Him: I’m not going anywhere
Kora: Find your own spot. [Beat. He stands there. She glowers at him]
Him: Cat got your tongue, dirty gypsy.
Kora: I’m not dirty.
- Alexander Calder
Volunteers for Issue 9
For copy-editing this issue of MTLS thanks:
- Lequanne Collins-Bacchus
- Amanda Tripp
- Claudia Del Balso
Acknowledgement
MTLS is grateful to Jetioluwa Olafimihan (Cotta Red Creative Studio) for her hard work on web development and management.
Dedication
To the memory of Stephen Potts
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