Issue #56

Fall 2015

Memories of Sanlorenzo

by Patrick Cosgrove

Artemis drove his blue Fandango through the streets of Sanlorenzo. A river appeared briefly, a river in the sky, and he forgot what he was about to say to the beautiful young woman seated beside him. This is a moment that will stay with me always, he said to himself, my moment of forgetfulness on the streets of Sanlorenzo at the wheel of my blue Fandango, sitting next to a beautiful young woman whose name I also cannot remember. Could it be Tracey? Señorita Tracey Barrett of the National Guard? The tightness of her curves astounds; her eyes are a treacly green -- I have never seen their like before. Twice I marched to the Athens of the North and even in those journeys I never... And so it goes on, the unceasing dialogue within. Meanwhile the river fades into clouds, a dove coos and the little town grows into a city. Such cities, mighty cities born in small moments of forgetting, are known to the localés as “quebas”. Even though we are completely surrounded, enveloped in traffic fumes and stinking garbage, a queba is no cause for concern. A few hours, a day or two at most and phfft! -- it is gone. Maybe the odd street cry hangs around a little longer but these are easily dealt with.

Author Bio


Patrick Cosgrove lives and works in London and writes poetry and short fiction. He's been published previously on the Ghazal Page, Sein und Werden, magma, and in Issues 39, 42, 44, 50, and 52 of The Cafe Irreal.