Amy Ward-SmithinLit UpThe Lotus PondThe prisoner kneels beside the lotus-filled pond. Hands tied behind back. Head down. Faded black clothes hang from his body. He is thin…Jul 31, 20185Jul 31, 20185
Amy Ward-SmithI Lost Him Somewhere by the MekongThe letter came to my work address. I recognized his writing on the envelope, the Australian postage stamps, and fought the urge to open it…Jul 26, 20185Jul 26, 20185
Amy Ward-SmithinLit UpThe Park SingerHis voice is deep, like one of those old country singers. As the notes rise, happiness, too. It’s obvious in his face.Nov 13, 20174Nov 13, 20174
Amy Ward-SmithHere I Feel the Heartbeat of this CountryThe place doesn’t look like much: a few plastic tables and chairs scattered on a quiet bend overlooking the Mekong. A middle-aged woman…Nov 8, 20172Nov 8, 20172
Amy Ward-SmithThe RiverThese years later you’re still dreaming of the river. It’s in the sad way you drink your tea, and in the look you get sometimes as you…Nov 5, 2017Nov 5, 2017