Don’t go alone, a lady from the hotel had said. Carry enough water, and start early. It was past noon and the hill’s shadow was as thick as the vegetation that covered it. A wooden stairway snaked up the steep slope. On either side of the stairs, the soil hid under layers of leaves and branches. The cicadas were louder than the waves washing the pebbles of Karavostási.

beyond the trees 
the ruins lurk in light 
pounding heart 

With neither company nor water that day, I quit my climb to the top, following, instead, a path along the slope. It rose gently toward the hillside facing the sea. Below, to my right, a deserted hotel overlooked the beach, its courtyard strewn with broken chairs and tables, sheets of grimy glass, buckets, planters, flower pots. Nestled against rocks and trees a caravan stood rotting. I trudged uphill past pieces of furniture, kitchen equipment, drainage pipes, the earth dug by animals, their odor in the air. Wild boars are dangerous, I’d been told. Farther up, a clearing overgrown with shrubs. At its edge, another caravan, and a chaos of abandoned belongings.

a bathtub 
lying in a meadow 
vanished lives  

Eugene Datta

is the author of the poetry collection Water & Wave (Redhawk Publications, 2024) and the story collection The Color of Noon (Serving House Books, 2024). His work has appeared in publications such as Common Ground Review, The Dalhousie Review, Hamilton Stone Review, The Main Street Rag, Mantis, and elsewhere. A recipient of the Stiftung Laurenz-Haus fellowship, he has held residencies at Ledig House International Writers’ Colony, and Fundación Valparaíso. A native of Calcutta, he lives with his wife and two children in Aachen, Germany.

More on the Web: By, About, and Beyond

⚡ Interview with Eugene Datta by Susan Tekulve in South 85 Journal (23 January 2025)