I close the bathroom door, And turning on the music To the highest volume, I watch them getting Engraved on my bones: The rhythms...

Placing one foot in front of the next, all tentative. Underneath the green bridge, the river still roars. The thicket drills through our...

The first time I saw her, she was bathed in moonlight, drifting in a sea of yellow and gold. I remember how the wind whipped through her...

a table for two on one end, the guest. napkin in collar, hands with claws. the other, for food. apple in jaw, pig to slaughter. the meal...

Kept alone on a rack was the lone bamboo. Its stem had a tiny crack and green leaves bore dew. Then its leaves wilted, and cracks...

The Inferno - Chapter 1: Firestorm A maiden With lush green hair And eyes that hold A world Of their Own Mother to all Birds and monkeys...

Four years ago, you looked me in the eye and said you were proud I had done it. You were proud of the shawl I wore and the words that...

I can watch you as you fall apart. Pieces begin to dislodge themselves from your mind and land on the floor like dust— silent in...

This house is dark, dull and drear, No light doth shine from far or near, Nor ever could. And those of us who live herein, Are most as...

Alexandria played with fire, left lit cigarettes smoldering on parchment, careless with candles her brilliance outshone, fanned the...

The mirror on my wall slumbers too often into bleary inertia. I see her wrists singed by maraschino conflagrations ignited in 1835 by a...

hanging sideways at my grandmother’s, the painting—a bowl of fruit on a table—adorned in gold and red, something mundane remaining hers....

I did not practice self care I did not draw or read or bullet journal Or any other pretty thing I've been putting off People have been...

I kicked my mother’s stomach for nine months and still came out with enough fight left to keep on screaming My mother raised me on the...

Would you like to be loved? She only hires so few. And these graduates never last long. As she unearths a new condition, her love has...

there's something that the scars on my arms say to each other every night they talk about boundaries, say they are a compass which guides...

on mother’s dupatta there is the faltering poetry of her days, inscribed in turmeric shades of deep yellow in orange shades of sinking...

The woman gestures around us. “Tell me, what do you see?” “Vast light blue space, a few white clouds.” She nods. “What else? Do you see...

This morning, I woke up my garden by beheading its brown-eyed marigolds, naked, bowed, dried, with the sharpened arches of my thumbnails....

After some time, I wake up And my thoughts scramble like the eggs from grandma’s frying pan Rusting in the clean marble kitchen like in...