Our Ghosts Are Present Tense
Prague's morning folds like an old letter, its edges softened by time and loss, a city of survived silences, trams tracking scars across cobbled skin. I'm…
Amanda RůžičkováAuthor of 53 Articles
Poet in Prague, Midwest-born, fluent in reinvention. Living with stage IV lung cancer and too many unread books. Writing with love and uncertainty—chasing meaning and the everyday beauty that survives
Air Pressure
Grief doesn’t whisper, it thunders— a storm inside, relentless, pushing, pressing, pounding my chest until I can't catch my breath. I don’t know how to hold…
Last Flight Out
The plane lifts— beneath us, the country shrinks to shapes that don’t know our names, and I count the ways this could be the last time: my lungs, or…
Negative Results
It hasn’t killed me yet— but it spreads. From marrow to memory, it seeds the femur, threads the ribs, scrapes its code into the curve of my pelvis— then…
Player, Played
I carry names I never chose— they twist like smoke, they fit like clothes. You call—I come. You speak—I shift, like I’m the thought that slipped your…
Save vs Tropes
Novels often feel like campaigns now— high highs and low lows. Blame D&D for that, maybe? Every moment either life-or-death or tavern banter. Subtlety doesn’t earn XP.…