Prose and poetry by Leen Raats
Grief is feminine. I greet her, an old acquaintance
with whom I grew up, grew askew
who pulled at me my entire youth, dragged me
into a bottomless darkness. So often I fell.
Sometimes I would lie there, paralyzed by a fear
that seemed to come from nowhere, and yet so real.
L’enfer c’est les autres but hell is heaven
compared to what sometimes rages in my chest.
Continue reading
Influencers without influence are looking for
the hippest hashtags for their Tiktok videos
dancing to the beat of the algorithm.
Incompetent experts by experience
whose unfinished projects grow too fast like children
give TED Talks about the power of failure
with a voice like the melody
of a lonely pinball machine.
Continue reading
My name is Treesje. I was born on the right bank of the river Scheldt. I am 29, afraid of turning 30, and even more afraid of not turning 30. I hate soccer, cava, and boring people. When I’m home alone, I dance around the living room. I am married to a Sven and mother to a Jade. My husband wants a second child. I always have a window open, even when it’s freezing. I want to feel a breeze.
Continue reading
My poem “Room to Breathe” appeared in Crannóg Magazine
(issue 60, Spring 2024), a leading Irish literary magazine. I am one of
45 writers published in this issue.
Continue reading
It’s the music that saved me
on long days underneath the roof window
of a drafty row house on a street
where no one wanted to know me.
At night I dissolved into crowds
like sugar in coffee. Invisible
but everywhere my shadow slipped
along facades, over thresholds where riffs
Continue reading
Leen writes 