"Through images of a familiar street, personal belongings, and a figure suspended in time, the poem considers absence, remembrance, and the quiet ways we continue searching for those who are gone." Re...

The taluk office smells of wet ceiling lime and old twine. A three-rupee revenue stamp peels away like dead skin from the corner of the land deed my grandfather signed. The clerk flattens the brittle...

A Journal Of Poetry And The Arts

Three moths waft through a clearing, from the trees on all sides. Aligned to the glimmer of mates, they push their soft bodies into flashlights and headlights and fires, flickering in lust and in certainty....