A Malady of Moving Parts . Most things may seem crucial nowin ways they didn’t always. It’s age–that makes it so. After a while,you may begin to see life as a skin condition which salves and lotionsdo not heal. Or what else? A malady of your moving parts? Maybe the streetswhere you ran your personal…
Arrivals and Departures. She squeezed her belly out from behind the wheel.The red and white Ford matched their mobile home.“Que Sera,” sang her namesake on the radio.“Let’s hope”, she muttered, swinging to the screen door. She hears him swing the Le Sabre into the garage.The motorized door closes behind him.Is this the last time her…
The Afterlife . The mass of meatIn a heap like a grave,Cold, stillAmid wafting incense,The moans and chants of mourning,Eyes closed, hands claspedFrozen in motion,I lose interest:Those motions of burial and propriety,Those greetings, sympathy, tears;He is no longer there,Not in that body,Twitching twisting growling in incoherence,More and more silentOver the years,He is no longer there:At…
What Says. Do but don’t can learn you —When every by-its-mights backfires you or if clobber is the ways the days have of tendering upWell then just you double get …
Only While I Sleep . 1Float, nourished maternally,tiny hands poised – clasp,release, relaxed in sleepuntil it’s time to emerge. 2Slumber deep beneathblanket of snow, furry onesinsulated from wind, tuckedinto a nest of downy softness. 3Milk-drunk litter lies supineagainst warm body, sleepsoundly, mewling ceases,sated until the next suckling. 4Dormant roots in quietude,nourished, waiting for springsun to…
Is It Love or Mourning? . In the painting, they stand tallagainst the trees, their limbsjust as long. Her black gown.His top hat. Their arms entwinedlike the ivy vines under theirfeet. I can’t see their faces,but some part of me is overcomewith inexplicable grief. Grief doesn’t always spawnfrom death. Sometimes,often times, grief isof your…
Multiple Days of Grief . A vague sniff that lingersafter my chores of daytime and night,I do not sit or restbut multiple in thousandswhere my hands produce a silent conversation of Godsbetween the tongue of a whore and a saint,a barbed wire,a quiet, huge wound.At days, I am as bright as a candlelight,the darkness only…
Blue (a Ghazal) . Am dreaming of eggs laid by blue-birds; am seeing the Mediterranean sea when I close my eyes—the Italian azure bluecolor calls me again, in hidden caves & pools, & this would never make me feel blue.Happiness to me feels like fluffy, silver feathers drifting lazily in the pines, touching the bluesky…
Treehouse A treehouse is a dream builder.A place where you can while awaythe hours that engineer the day.Study wild things like tree creepers. Listen to the serene woodland songs.Breathe in the estuary scent.Forget the troubles and the wrongs.Focus on the messages sent by garrulous herons in the reeds.Industrious squirrels dodging hawks.Trees rustling to and…
‘Creative Activism in Words and Action’ Writers and Activists at the United Nations Presented by Life and Legends at 2022 AWP Date: Friday, March 25, 2022Time: 10:35 AM–11:35 AM ETLocation: #AWP22 Virtual Conference Platform . Panelists Rachel Pittman, Christopher Merrill, Kalpna Singh-Chitnis, Dunya Mikhail, Megha Sood ModeratorKalpna Singh-Chitnis PROGRAM OUTLINE
Quarantine The pain isn’t contagious,I assure you, the pain cannot be transmitted,No nerve twisted in my peer’s bodycauses excruciating touching inside me.The pain is not contagious, the painSingles out more atrocious than the walls,No quarantine isolates so perfectly,It’s trivial what I say – that’s the argument.Lord, how much literature we contain!The feelings – remember? –…
INSANI FATUM When I was bornThere were no angels waiting for me,There were no magicians in the backyard,No relatives present,Not drunk prophets;There was no one to drawBeneficial lines in my birth chartOr whoever reads in the golden placentaUnique plots, unpublished destinations;Ariadne, Virgil, Ovid were absent;Only Sisyphus celebrated my arrival:……………_ At last I will be replaced!…
