by Lisa Martinovic´
I have long been a person who’s brimming with great advice for, well, pretty much everybody. I dispensed it freely and without the least bit of provocation. It never occurred to me that having something of value to share did not constitute license to do so uninvited.
Over the years, the person who’s endured the lion’s share of my fabulous advice is my mother. Despite this, and to her eternal credit, we are blessed to have a very close relationship; we communicate honestly and do the hard work of processing through our rough patches.
A few years ago my mother got involved with the Center for Non-Violent Communication, an organization that helps negotiate peace between individuals and groups all over the world. She began to develop new skills, among which was the ability to challenge her insistent daughter. We’d be in the middle of a conversation with me saying something like “Oh, you really must try goat milk kefir for digestive health” or “You absolutely have to get a handle on your procrastination—and here’s how.” She’d stop me with something diplomatic like “It would be so much nicer if you asked me if I wanted a suggestion before offering it.”
Read the rest of this essay »
by Lisa Martinovic
Having suffered a series of calamities
so long and varied as to comprise a statistical impossibility
I cling the tenuous hope that
surely
my life cannot get worse
then my computer crashes
and I am plunged headlong into a canyon of despair
deep and unfathomable as string theory
landing with an inelegant splat, I am an upended bug
flailing fruitlessly and beset
by larger insects who gnaw greedily on my exposed viscera
Read the rest of this poem »
by Lisa Martinovic
Bobo Takes a Chance
Bobo Canelli wasn’t cut out to be a hit man. But that alone didn’t explain his presence on a cattle car lurching across Siberia.
He slapped a fat mosquito feeding on his forearm. “Damn Russkie bugs!”
The other passengers ignored him and continued dozing in the hypnotic heat of summer on the plains.
Bobo wondered if he’d made a mistake, uprooting his life in the Bronx, and selling everything for a one-way ticket to Vladivostok where Annabelle Marsh had vowed to meet him for an unforgettable first date.
This was Bobo’s first stab at Internet dating.
When he told Mama Canelli of his plans she laughed. Then she slapped his face and called him a fool. Mama’s mocking cackle played in his head over and over as the train rattled over the bones of a million exiles.
When they pulled into Vladivostok, the platform was empty.
Bobo heard the train whistle go foooooooo—ooooooool!
Read the rest of these stories »