Reflection
I stood sideways in front of the mirror, smoothing
my dress. I could see the fishermen down by the
dock, the careless sunbathers. You walked ahead
of me on a hike through the old wood forest. The
guide said there had been a famous bird, now
extinct.
On a hot day, the line between sea and sky blurs.
I let my knife make an ugly noise on a china plate.
I waved the waiter over and asked for another
drink. I looked at you, daring. Driving home, you
argued for existence. I rolled the window down
and listened to the wind.
Beth says, I love an oud taqsim–how it feels like storywriting. One sound is established, and then that sound grows, changes, settles, expands, and closes over the course of a piece.
In our dream band, on the oud:
Beth Hahn (she/her) is the author of the novel The Singing Bone (Regan Arts). Her writing is forthcoming and appear in The Common, Small Orange Journal, Milk Candy Review, Fractured Lit, HAD, CRAFT, and elsewhere. She is at work on a hybrid collection of flash and prose poetry. Her second novel has been long-listed for publishing prizes with Mslexia and Regal House. Her stories have been nominated for Pushcarts by CRAFT and Milk Candy Review. Find her at @be_hahn.
Ran Off With the Star Bassoon 