- Poetry -


They materialize at dusk at the edges / of driveways and sidewalks, in the middle / of the quiet dead-end, hands asway, / intermittent wipers desperate to clear / clouding swarms of gnats. Continue reading

point beach

hometowns have thousands of little ghosts / that do not stay in the cemetery. they are / pushing up through the renovated sidewalk, / catching you between the cracks. Continue reading

Still Quitting Kansas

Eleven years ago today, at four-thirty / in the afternoon, just eighteen months / after I buried my son, I shuttered the house / my father built and drove my mother / back East, the veil over her lungs Continue reading

Crescent Heights

The desiccate syllable / solo and trashblown / against a chain link / fence. The sky occasioning / itself impossible and blue / above us. So it’s come / to this? Is it what it is? Continue reading

- Prose -

Towards Zero

Eighty kilometers outside Kolkata International airport, and your busy bee life is a vibrant static reflection on a lavender-rose, wrapped by the rental company’s ribbon. Your musing, a scrawl upon... Continue reading

She Cooks Well, Too

“Bina! Come downstairs! They’re here!” My grandmother yells to me, frantically trying to fix the dupatta which keeps falling away from my face.  Could you be more Indian? I swat... Continue reading

Second Hand

On our summer vacation to Washington state, my mother pulls me back from Mount St. Helens with her gingham oven mitts. She is careful to protect her own hands when... Continue reading

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