Prose and poetry by Leen Raats
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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You are safe now I’m here.
Muscles grown, back straight, fists ready.
No one will harm you.
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After all these years you still don't know
how to live, just like every night you
seem to have forgotten how to fall asleep.
It feels indeed like falling
into the arms of the unknown
that you should have been
familiar with by now.
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Good news: an American website just published three of my poems. And not just any site, but ONE ART.
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The Nigerian Libretto Magazine has published my short story Silent Night. The inspiration for this story comes from a street in Rapertingen (Hasselt) where residents put up a lot of Christmas decorations every year. Of course, I took the liberty of creating my own reality. Also, I gave the street a different name, so I can always claim that any similarity with existing facts or persons is purely coincidental.
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The English version of my poem Aorta appears in '(W)holes,' an anthology by The Heartland Society of Women Writers (USA). It is a colorful collection of stories and poems by women writers.
(w)holes is an anthology where women and nonbinary writers consider the wholes that form us and the holes that cause relationships and structures to erode. This anthology explores the theme literally or figuratively in each carefully selected short story, poem, and nonfiction essay.
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They mainly come at sundown. They emerge from the shadows of twilight, along with the roe deer and foxes. But while the animals wander quietly over the moors, stopping every few steps to graze or to look around, they set sail directly for the Solitary Man, a massive rock that rises like a peninsula from the Atlantic Ocean, surrounded by waves that crash on the jagged fingers of the mainland.
John doesn't know what draws them to this place. Cornwall's coastline has countless rock formations and sheer cliffs. So why this one? Does it have to do with its name, which some say can be traced back to the Celts?
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Today the 24 spring issue of Rathalla Review came out, featuring my story You shouldn’t move an old tree.
Rathalla Review is a literary magazine published by students of Rosemont College, just outside Philadelphia (Pennsylvania, USA).
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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.
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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.
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Leen writes 