‘India lost one-third of its coastline from erosion. The National Centre for Coastal Research surveyed 6,031 kilometers of India’s 7,517-kilometre coastline from 1990 to 2016’
‘two micro-continents were found in the Indian Ocean that would link the theory that
India and Australia were once connected’
Read The Hourglass Sea and its Ghost >
1. Fill kitchen with women, 10 Rosies with rolled sleeves. Scatter
across tile like falling crumbs from chapped lips.
2. Pie filling is secret as the porch’s spare key. Release powder
from sealed lunch bags, letting clouds fill the kitchen and conceal
feminine forms. Add 2 cups milk and guard concoction with
grandma’s hand mixer.
Read Recipe: Peanut Butter Pies >
what i mean is i’d like to be a firefly, a lavender cloud tipped with gold, liquid
indigo. and what i mean is that i’d like warm hands cupped around me, fingers reaching
towards the sky,
hands dyed in my color.
Read Litany >
When I say “you,” I speak of a ghost, a myth, a loneliness. A story passed from night to tearchoked night. There was a real “you,” and it was just him, but like identical twins there was a split, and they are separate people now.
Read A Scar Shaped Like a Poem >
Our planet has four pink moons.
Sit on benches, watch them play.
It’s June. You pierce small blue violets
Between my thighs, all in line, they
Pulse indigo in the evening time.
Read Dinnertime Waltz >
I sometimes have a hard time saying goodnight to her because I mix up the word “goodnight”
with “goodbye.” And saying goodbye to her right before she goes to sleep isn’t a particularly
calming thing to do; it kind of implies nightmares or perhaps, even death, may befall
her in between the time when she closes her eyes and opens them again in a new day.
Read Goodbye & Goodnight >
Your chin was a roof and your arms were the walls.
Your kisses were high ceilings and your lap was the floor.
Your words hung tapestries and painted pictures modeled
after Monet and I hung them on the wall and admired them
Read An Old Home/A New Home >
On our backs in the wheat field, I lie on your left side
staring at your whole and glorious ear. The sky is knifed and shredded
with clouds. Stalks spearing our shoulders. The sunburnt soles
of our feet tread circles around each other while you glaze your God in blues.
Read Vincent's Ear >