toasty flips tuna on his back. she strikes him in the head and he twists to his feet. a snake corpse lies by their bedside, headless and dejected, flakes of skin littered about. orange tinges from lantanas bounce off tuna’s fur. he hisses at her, inches near, and slings his paw back for …
Photo Taken by Tanav Khanduri. There was a young boy who developed a love for Independence Day. It doubled as his birthday. His family would sit on the porch, sing to him as they lit the cake, then watch the fireworks. Those nights were near perfect. And when the fireflies came, they were …
i breathe in your air like a memory, touch your skin as if it were the Universe, so soft, so true, so everything. i believe in God because you are beyond a chaotic creation; too divine to have been from dust and rock. i kiss your lips forever, leave you-shaped outlines in …
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Photo Taken by Tanav Khanduri. your drinks water the grass, and you tend to share your meals with ants. butter fingers, i say. and when it makes you smile, i am enamored by both your beauty and terrible sense of humor. those are my fondest memories. your fingers hesitantly lace through mine, …
Illustration by Matthew Mohammed. Colors there only to entice. A deep bass that bounces through you wearily. A row of bodies and bottles on the bathroom floor. A heart attack at the tempo of the tunes. A foreign tongue with red lips and sharp words. A knuckle to a mouth that’s run on too long. …
“Yuh mudda,” I say. Black Bai tilts his head up at me puzzled. It takes him a moment to process so he stops walking. His right eye twitches as sweat beads down into a fresh cut above his eyebrow. “Man carry yuh skunt,” he says, looking at the two other laughing boys, “What dat even …
reminds me of days i would lie awake, unable to move through the fear that one day, these same stars will devour us. forgetting where i am, where i was, where i will be. when you’re the only one in sight outshining the cosmos, the stars can not begin to compare. Poetry
Fifteen years ago, Beary lost his eyes. I can’t remember how they used to look. My mom stitched him a new one, torn off a tiger toy I never liked. A banal hue of brown paints his textured fur. I was eleven when I found out it was cotton. Nowadays he’s spotted by …
Humor me as I tear my eyes from the sockets, juggling them around an idea you already know to be true. Humor me as I dip my pen in blood that leaks from open wounds and marvel at red paintings of a life you’ve always known. But don’t dare pity me like I’m …
Dalton’s mom spills her apple martini on my shirt while explaining that she was “basically” Mexican since two Mexicans had married into her family. Her son apologizes, ushering her away while aggressively patting napkins on my yellow button-up. I assure him that it is fine and proceed down the …
Illustration by Matthew Mohammed. your footprints stain the sand, etching a sole outline of filth and dirt that mock your name. they say you’ve gone missing. but i know the truth: what’s missing is gone. your smile is plastered on walls, each painted the color of your skin, they must collapse at the …
Illustration by Matthew Mohammed Tendrils of stars and skin, wearing hats that taste like you do. Can you see them frowning? I used to believe in order. The taste of molten paper blows through my teeth as the words come out, pronged by sappy leaves oozing golden saliva. Do you know the one …
I’m six hours in the future, timezone-wise. The grass here is vibrant, echoes of life and care. The river hums beside me. A ring I bought in London is sinking there; it kept turning my finger blue. The air tastes of waffles and tourism. Halfway through the garden a sign reads: Schietwilg …
Photo Taken by Tanav Khanduri. Tonight, we’re together.The Sun is down,the moonlight beams,and we’re together. I hope that in the days to come,you’ll be back in my bed.Where have you been, you’ll whisper.I’ll confess, I’ve been searching for a way to go back. You’ll laugh, and I’ll laugh, and we’ll laugh.That isn’t how it works, …
go beyond the limits of. Sometimes I imagine myself breathing life into ideas I muster up, and they miserably claw at my skull, unable to break free. Why would they? They have no means by which to escape. So they mold themselves into words and force me to sit down and lay them out. We’re …
Photo Taken by Tanav Khaduri First, start by clawing at the door. Try to break it off the hinges. If you succeed, take your leave and save yourself the trouble. If you fail, stop only if your arms break from the sockets. Now you’ve entered the creative state. Start by making a skeleton, and slowly …
Photo Taken by Tanav Khanduri. I left the park earlier than usual that evening, maybe 10PM, but I likely could’ve kept the night going had I been a bit more proactive. My friends thought it was out of character, and it was, but I blamed it on insomnia. It was a half-truth, but I didn’t …
The only country in South Americawhere English is the first language,colonists beat indentured servantsfor speaking in their mother tongue. One out of ten adults can’t read or write.The second-highest suicide rate in the world.Every afternoon I drive past a mother and two boys,stripped to cloth and bone, flesh torn off like roadkill. I drove …
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