a frieze of lacemakers
intricately at work
beneath the bay’s
array of scintilla –
essays | fiction | poetry | photography | art
a frieze of lacemakers
intricately at work
beneath the bay’s
array of scintilla –
wondering why
create measures to gauge the seriousness
of fragile moments
My name is June; you have to say it like ‘sex’
softly bright
like it’s a pink toaster
Reheating Leftovers And there you wereletting the world know you’d betemporarily unavailableagainthinking, All I can do now iswait for the clocks to tickhalf past six because thenthe door is opened andstays open untilthe blood has been takenout of the bodiesgiven a brief stirput back in or your hate of the present brings you to the…
Beneath the light of a bashful demilune,
the water appears quite black, like blood on snow.
Last night they were alive again, flying through the air at break-bone speed, but they didn’t break.
Tiffin clangs like bells,
collapses as it climbs,
tiffin holds okra, paneer,
sambar, and lemon rice.
The fish
fillets are thawing
for their pan-fried debut.
giddy with the scent
we pipette the peppermint
into the mixture
a cheeping beak breaks forth
scenting balmy air:
swirls of hyacinths waft
in warm, hour-less days –
I felt autumn and you weren’t in it
How many fried eggs do I have to eat to heal these broken bones?