• Skip to primary navigation
  • Skip to main content
  • Skip to footer
Diaspora Dialogues

Diaspora Dialogues

Supporting new fiction, poetry, and drama

Donate

Social Links Widget

  • Our Programs
    • Mentorship
    • Professional Development
    • TOK Magazine
    • FAQs
  • Our Writers
    • Mentors
    • Mentees
    • Success Stories
  • News & Events
    • Events
  • About Us
    • Our Team
    • The Board
    • Our Allies
    • Contact Us

A Cardboard Box

dd
Marina Nemat
August 21, 2011
Share Tweet Share

Sometimes, especially after a harsh, long Canadian winter, it seems as though spring will never come, that it has frozen to death somewhere deep in the ground, buried inside an eternal shroud of glittering ice. It’s a mid April morning, and my three children, Bahram, Baba and Behzad, wave to me from the dirty windows of the yellow school bus. I wave back. My husband, Farzad, steps out of the house, wearing a navy suit and a striped blue tie. He gives me a little kiss and says “I love you,” but by the absent look in his eyes, I can tell that his mind is already at the office, and he is gone before I have a chance to say “I love you too.” I check my flower beds. The dark-green leaves of my tulips have broken the surface of the soil, but the landscape is still grey and the wind whips against me. It starts to rain, and although I hate being cold and wet, I stay outside, breathing in the scent of the waking earth.

Published in TOK: Writing the New Toronto, Book 1. Purchase the book to read the full piece.

PreviousNext

Filed Under: Book 1, Excerpts Tagged With: Book 1, excerpt, Marina Nemat, TOK

Footer

Our Programs

  • – Mentorship
  • – Professional Development
  • – TOK Magazine
  • – FAQs

Our Writers

  • – Mentees
  • – Mentors
  • – Success Stories

News & Events

  • News
  • Events

About

  • – Our Team
  • – Board of Directors
  • – Our Allies
  • – Contact Us

Donate Now
Top