where the writers are

Eva Lesko Natiello's Writings

Poem
Mar.27.2012
The tip of a flame, deep orange and red, reminds me of bougainvillea petals. Fire makes me think of him. Pools of mud, shiny and dark, remind me of black beans swimming in their inky liquid.  Wet dirt makes me think of him. A chain linked fence is the weave of a hammock.  Galvanized wire makes me think of him. The tear drop on my lip tastes of a glass...
Short Story
Mar.26.2012
He pinched the corners of the clean starched cloth and unfurled it in the air with a snap.   Gravity aided its lazy descent until it covered the square tabletop with just the right amount of overhang on all four sides.  The almost imperceptible air pockets beneath the white cloth were snuffed out with one sweep of the waiter’s palm.   His...