Take This Line on Your Tongue
Lick the slip of it—peach-slick, spun. Let plump pulse press on soft lip. Murmur the vowel: round, ripe, low. Teeth tease juice from golden syllable skin. This line swells…
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
Living In Her Eyes
Sometimes I watch her watching me, wonder-struck, wavering, and let myself imagine the country conjured behind those eyes— softened by sunrise, soaked golden with grace, assembled from galaxies she gently…
Someone Worth Surviving For
You’re not going to be ready. Not when it happens— not when he arrives, not when you hold the test in your shaking hand, thinking you did everything right,…
Field Notes for a Son I Didn’t Know
Day 4 She turned down the radio when a child sang. Didn’t say why, But her fingers curled against her thigh like they were remembering how to hold a…
False Spring?
The cold won’t quit. April spits warmth, then slips back into bone-gnawing wind— sinks its teeth in again, all bite, no bloom. We talked about a garden— just talked—…
Necromnesis
By breath and bone and fleeting trace, I call you— by sigh mistaken, empty space, I call you— by echoes caught in fraying thread, by shadows drifting near my bed,…