ERIN CONWAY

Before Guatemala, I had only observed Passover once in my life. I was a child at my grandparent's Seder. The memories I have are of soggy and salty matzo ball soup, drinking my glass of so sweet wine too quickly and the disappointed look thereafter on Nana's face. In Guatemala I met a Jewish family who took me in every year for this holiday. I believe this is why the connection reappeared to me in this poem. The intersection of these two important identity experiences in

Read the published excerpt from my novel in verse: https://swimmingwithelephants.com/page/3/

My dad marks the year in a distinct way than most. The time leading up to fair and then the rest of the year after. Last year, my blog earmarked lament. This year I highlight an excerpt from a recently written novel that I lean towards entitling with lyrics from one of my dad's original songs. This year I am grateful to say that the characters in the scene are discussing topics I am no fortunate to be invested in at a full time job. What we (both real and fictional) will

The vet invites me to Thanksgiving. I choose to work at the animal shelter. “I’ll stop by later with some turkey,” she offers. “I’m sure the animals would like that.” I text on Gloria’s phone. The vet arrives. She walks several of the dogs. “I wish I could adopt them, Do more,” I say. She drops her head. I hold out turkey to Indigo. I pull on my Real Madrid sweatshirt. The hood settles over my ears. “I know,” the vet replies. She takes a leash. She hands me a new pair of ea

Silence Not sirens Mark our arrival at the hospital. “Hola. I’m Augustin, Information specialist. It’s my job to escort reporters. I guess that’s close enough to- Everyone reaches out. Shakes hands. “Close enough to whatever your Little band is.” If I call him “Gusto”, His name begins with “G”. I don’t believe this is an accident. He belongs with us. But bull elephants always come And go. “Where were they?” Gloria fills in the lines. “The way BORSTAR described it Pretty mu

Gloria is careful with her questions. She doesn’t want to ask why. She doesn’t want to ask questions She herself won’t answer. I listen to how each person at the table Explain how they arrived at the table. The woman with the elephant necklace Was in control of her emotions. “Why are you doing this?” I asked and shivered. “Because others think death is too late To tell a story that matters.” “But why are you doing this? For strangers?” “Because,” She fingered her necklace

“Valentine’s Day is my favorite holiday, especially in Guatemala,” I announced after showing up to work my shift at the library’s Learning Through Play program. I slid my calf out along the carpet to reveal black tights dotted with red and pink hearts. It was. It was Saturday. It was Valentine’s Day. Weekends were where I made up extra outreach hours I was missing to stay on track to finish my requirements as an Americorps volunteer. It was Valentine’s Day and just anot

Savta Hanna shifted from one foot to the other and pulled the bag in close to her again in an attempt to move away from where the conversation had gone. Her body looked like the bag felt heavier. “What about your friend? Lila is her name, right?” Ori squinted. “She likes trees. She’s drawn a lot of the trees around Tel Aviv. I lent her a book. I didn’t want to give it to her at first, because of all the notes I made on the page about the olive tree.” Sipping from the

The temperature had most definitely grown cooler but there was no wind. Bagel shivers, but it may not be from cold. I retreat to an easier subject. “Those people, the family that was walking you around. Where do you think they’re from?” “Their eyes were familiar to me, but I guess it would be ridiculous to think they were all the way from Guatemala.” “I wish I had their blanket. That would keep us warm. We could make a cave like Saba made.”