Issue 15.2 – Poetry

Dear Mom: Remember when you used to tuck me in? White and pink crocheted blanket Nestled in next to the soft black cat Bedtime stories, wait! One more, please. Please?   Remember those fights we used to have? We screamed at each other Doors were slammed, shattered You didn’t understand my hormones And I didn’t…

Issue 15.1

re- pair me with you again even though we have left pieces of us in our wake and each time we glue us back together the edges are askew But we can fill the gaps with who we have become Perhaps we will still fit together imperfectly Living in Singapore, India-born Uma Venkatraman is a journalist with…

Issue 14.5 – Poetry

I went to the spot —stood there— trying to remember why I vowed never to return.   It had been so dark in my memory, musty and in my lungs like pneumonia. I never thought the room would be sweet tasting ever again.   But standing there, where it happened, I knew it wasn’t the…

Issue 14.4 – Poetry

I slip my hand between your thumb & pointer finger, you squeeze it gently, stare to the right where the painting you like best hangs. This isn’t a fight. This is an I love you. I love you & it pains me to be so exposed. All my soft, important parts visible to you alone….

Issue 14.3 – Poetry

She lives beneath my skin A blind and tortured viper gliding through darkness Looking for air and light and the right way to escape This slithering princess with her endless needs, lusty and lithe Her creamy hands clutching at pearls of wisdom while swine await their bounty The scenes float down, manna for a-muse-ment Gossamer…

Issue 14.2 – Poetry

for Jason Stover   We became friends in the age of health and lightness, your cheeks awash in a pink and gentle joy.   The small moments remembered – your gentle gesture as you tucked a frayed collar into place, your bits of song sneaking into, taking over, conversation, outside of art class, in line…

Issue 14.1 – Poetry

Once I loved with my eyes closed. I reached out, asked the goddesses and foremothers for strength. Open my chest, I said, and birth me a girl whose body bleeds with the power of every woman who walked before her, who knew the possibility of an exposed heartbeat.  And they did. I placed my own…

Issue 13.4 – Poetry

You never told me to remember, impress upon my mind, my childhood days with you So, I didn’t know I would only retain memory pieces of the life we lived together I never stopped to think you might not be here tomorrow Did it cross your mind you might not watch your daughters grow up?…

Issue 13.3 – Poetry

How I wished to be his cat. I would purr against him, he would pet me He would give me food and water. I would come to him when he was naked on his bed And rub my fur against his belly He would keep me in the house with him He wouldn’t blame me…

Issue 13.2 – Poetry

Pulling into the driveway, memories make me gasp for air. Can anyone know the love that happened here?   The maple tree out front where I discovered how to make noses out of its seedlings, and felt carefree enough to jump in its leaves, stands exquisitely rigid demonstrating its stability. Its branches reaching for the…