NOW, you should prepare by obtaining the following: I. For giving to a priest: 1 pound rice, ½ pound toor dal, ½ cup red chilies, ¼ cup coriander seeds …
As the title suggests, Francesca Bell’s debut collection of poetry, Bright Stain (Red Hen Press, 2019) is rife with complexity and nuance. A stain might…
scab country, this; coagulatedfrom the fall, the bleed; picked apart, flickedso new underneath it won’t match can’t; scarlike bleach on jeans, like knuckle clean through glassbruise can yellow over, recolor;…
I recited Tagore to you at bedtime. Tales of flower buds and fishermen, Boat crossings on an ocean of milk. [You settle in your sleep.] Your earrings…
I am now older than you when your body was lostbetween solid and liquid as death courted brother and foe what thoughts rose as mountains…
The summer after 6th grade, my lizard died. My parents had never owned reptiles before and the vet we took our dog to wouldn’t cremate…
“Hey! Where’d that woman put my fan?” Mimi yelled. “That woman—she took it. I know she did. She’s always taking my stuff.” Ruth held her…
These daysI only read worksfrom poetsI’m intimate withnot the cigaretteafterwards kindbut morein a crowdedroom kindwhen you readthat pieceabout smokinga cigaretteafterwardslips pursedaround a narrowfilter inhalingnicotineyour bodyabsorbing…
And that’s whyI never see Don Ramon,loaded with carrots and lettuces, walking the roadon the west sideof my little home. Have you ever thoughtof whomyou’d…
I lay on my left side, the technician’s wrist on my breast, wand pushing into my skin.He’s looking at my heart on the screen, into…
Before the flood,New Orleans gave usCrawfish plucked from spicy broth that blistered Our lips pressed silent during the awkward family dinner;Sinking gravestones that made my mother…
A dozen donuts popped and sizzled in the deep fryer. As they floated into one another, Cosmo took out a pink box from under the…
Do not grieve. Anything you lose comes around in another form. -Rumi 1. Why I still see you in the time since then, I can’t…
It’s just an unknown web journal that probably no one reads, but something I wrote has been published. I’m thrilled. You would be, too. I…
Their mother knocked on the door and leaned inside quick enough to catch Susan swaying to “The Wallflower” playing on her transistor radio. Elyse, lying…