Prose and poetry by Leen Raats
In the dead of night, she becomes a better version of herself. Her red pumps lead her to the little table in the corner where no one bothers her except for men who smell desperation. Bloodhounds.
There's one already. A somewhat older specimen, clearly still in denial. Ironed shirt, too much aftershave. Not her type, but hunger is the best sauce.
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What lies beyond these mountains
rests within me, deep and low
an unspoiled valley
where mythical creatures
with unearthly motives
lead late travelers to their destiny.
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My poem ‘What the universe wanted’ is part of issue 41 of The Pointed Circle, a magazine run by students and faculty members at Portland Community College.
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The universe wanted it that way
he claims, and everything happens for a reason
as we’re all made up of pieces of a primordial planet
overwhelmed with nostalgia for the cosmos.
He talks about black holes, the Big Bang
and the evolution from single-celled creature
to fish to mammal to man.
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I felt it when she first took me to the forest: she belonged here. Alma adored the multi-stemmed alders growing by the green water, the ivy strangling gnarled oaks, the rotten smell of decayed wood, and the compelling silence that hung like mist between the trunks.
“I love being here,” she said, that first time, when we explored every detail of each other's bodies like a complex map of a medieval city. “But I also feel that it's best not to stay here for too long.”
She was right. Every twig that cracked beneath our feet, every plant we trampled, every gulp of oxygen-rich forest air we breathed, felt like a dishonor to this place, which was so much older than us.
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My short story Trees Die Standing appeared in the first edition of Interweaved Magazine. This brand-new lit mag is based in Trinidad and Tobago.
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Cab drivers who know about five English words
but refuse to use them, are speeding in dilapidated Volvos
through a city where amongst thousand-year-old buildings
tourists take pictures of themselves.
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My poem #Prague was published in Descant, a magazine edited by students from a university in Texas. It’s part of the 63rd edition of this paper magazine. Even more exciting: they nominated my poem for the 2024 Pushcart Prize.
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This morning I woke up in the dark.
With pain in my stomach and the voice of the radio newsreader.
Yet the day felt clean. Birds sang along the railway track.
At Brussels Central Station I saw a beggar with a bloodstained face
who no one seemed to see. I asked if I could help. I couldn’t.
Even though I know all about being invisible.
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Deep inland we soon
forget the infinity of the sea.
Today I follow rivers
ruthlessly heading for their end
as I carry sorrow like an old backpack
that shaped itself to the curve of my back
and a smile that is not mine.
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Leen writes 