Dawn cracks over Delhi like a smooth, white egg, sunny yolk of hope, perennially dented, imperfect, in the welkin; on the wall, last night’s smoke…
“This is the Hour of Lead – Remembered, if outlived, As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow – First – Chill – then Stupor – then…
(for Ganga, 1937-2016) “The silence of the dead is easily ignored.”- C. Dale Young You’ll never be archaeology; they’ll never find your bones. Cause today,…
I examine her face closely on Pinterest— the cracked skin, the oval sidelong face, the ripples of red hair small breasts, strong abdominal muscles, wide…
Everything went back to normal: Grandma dead again, me eyeing the farmer’s sons, trying to pull off my gloves as roughly as they did theirs….
A pot of potatoes for pirogis now bubbles a cauldron of chicken feet with no alpha in between. Chopped liver should be chopped, in the…
Woken again in the fifth hour to darkness, and memories of a shattered voice who cannot leave his lover, and from the pretty recent past…
a timeworn legend, this is regarding an avowal of destiny and karma, or call it, kismet and fate that assure nothing but, a soul mate…
long finger-nails cream hands and a smile that drives you to hell and beyond, there’s a boy out there who calls me Madonna we’re back…
Reassurance rests on the tendon joining humerus to ulna and brother radius, a plain broad enough to set up cup and saucer in the correct…
The best of you is rare explosives are what it makes, The places you’re destined to reach was screened by design, The little you know…
I looked through a pinhole in an antiquated room with an inverted umbra of an aged easterly spire, the mysterious upside-down shadow had me consumed…
The faucet in our kitchen is getting old I had touched it When we came to see the apartment The first one of our married…
This poem won the first prize in the poetry competition of Alcheringa festival’s Zephyr literary event.
ceramic mustard and ivory shells cradled in fruit skins and ashes once we were doll heads and now we are only ourselves we seem to…
Just a few broken bits of bone Some scraps of cloth and a hair or two Marked and placed in plastic bags Is all that…
It began then, during the ten wet nights of red crabs clawing at the moon, a nymph that had just drowned in a maelstrom; the…
When the opaque dusk swells, The broken street lamp’s Pearlescence of glass shards, Overshadows the warmth of light bulb The night is the unsung…
I set out to paint the light when it grows soft at summer’s end, but could not wrap my thoughts around the immensity of neglect…