A short story set amongst German emigrees in Los Angeles, Weimar Under Palm Trees.


published January 2019 in Bosie Magazine

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  The German words, forming in my mouth, take the shape and glimmer of mountain crystal and glacier crevices. I tell her about Max and his incessant work. How sometimes, I will read something out loud, just a word, and Max will purse his lips over his great buck teeth and go off to write with what had been my – my! Not his – phoetal glimmer: that’s how his play Sacagawea, Daughter of the Revolution (1934) came to be. One of his best. The relief I feel at saying this, out loud, in German! I feel like I might cry.


“That does good,” Fiona says, in German, and shakes her head, a sigh caught in her white chest.


“What does good?”


“German speaking.”