Remembering Moldova

Quick Work: Short Takes on Epic Truths

Here, in 100 words or fewer, writers make quick work of compelling true stories, in the lead-up to Multiplicity‘s 2026 Spring/Summer issue, THRESHOLDS.

Photo of a teenager looking out over a grassy valley in Moldova.
Photo by Sergii Mostovyi

Remembering Moldova

by Bozhena Johnson

My mother’s food
I remember most—
Juicy mititei, spicy sausages
Formed from ground beef.

Fluffy, scorching hot mamaliga that envelopes the tongue,
Water and cornmeal simmered together.
Cutting mamaliga into slices with a thin thread,
Topping with butter, sour cream,
And brinza—tangy like feta.

I remember tea parties—
Friends under the willow,
Branches dangling around us like curtains,
Embracing dolls and sitting on blankets.

I remember walking in the Valley of the Roses,
Filled with fragrant scents—the summers of my youth.
I remember fleeing Moldova,
Coming here over thirty years ago,
And never going home again.


About the Writer

Bozhena Johnson, a Bay Path MFA candidate, wrote this poem in the Multiplicity Studio class during the 2026 spring semester.