Today a man, a woman, and a child much younger than me asked me who I wanted to be I responded with – Is that..

The shadow is the ice melting down ravines of drowned hipbones, beadings strung in the sunlight.  It rubs its head between two stones, peeling back..

The Sukshma Series is a first-hand account of an educated woman of post-colonial India reflecting on how the social and political set-up of the country defined the status of an Indian woman.

“Drinking mercury to the mystery of all that you should ever leave behind…. in time.”  “Ava Adore,” Billy Corgan My purple skin projects royal essences..

And as the sets reverse, to bring age to each step, Every sordid moment worse, lost is the night to its solemn shroud And as I were, softly..

“Can I go home yet?” Such a small voice for a big statue On a grey stool in the cornera British Museum guard yawnsand turns away..

“Do not touch this. You will only have troubles and problems.”– Archeologist, Iris Love, to Getty Museum officials on the prospective purchase of the Statue..

~After Naipaul’s “Tell Me Who to Kill”~a thank you, to those who made the journey, before  They built the train tracksfor memory, brakes to stop..

I feel my mouth go dry in terror whenever I hear a cricket.  (Denise Duhamel) I have lived in the front yard all my life.Like..

The Sukshma Series is a first-hand account of an educated woman of post-colonial India reflecting on how the social and political set-up of the country defined the status of an Indian woman.

I push my weightagainst the sturdy swing-doorof Nani’s house.My eyes catch white and grey: Nana’s pebble gardenwhere we would discoverfat pieces of rock. Khadiya. We would..

in my dream, my brain talks about brainsbeing more or less the same, resembling kidney beans, sprouting web-like dendrites, wired for synaptic connection,passing signals cell to cell through axons,rosette-tipped, purring like..

The blooms have each waited inside a small, tight bud all winter long. Each a sex-nub, a tender, excitable mound of tree-flesh rousing to sunlight’s..

It would be so easyTo be lost hereIn your armsIn the windBy the river. I don’t hear the hawk,Though you do. All I hear is the Almost-roarOf..

When we packed our things from paint-chipped cupboards, and made peace with stains of wine on the carpet- too permanent to move out with us;..

quiet & beloved memory—serpent swallowing mouse wholea vibration of the tail—warning of appetiteI collect your worst flaws in a jar, colorfulI taste them—candy, I loathe..

The Sukshma Series is a first-hand account of an educated woman of post-colonial India reflecting on how the social and political set-up of the country defined the status of an Indian woman.

Not far from near future, we bendlight around corners. Down periscope.Up and away from you all.  Take me at my word: they’ve outlawed affection.We lock in,..

You and I flush it down the toilet many times a dayBut it crawls out wrecking our just-mopped floors.Reeking. ‘Bloody hell!’, we shout in lingua..

Van Gogh stops byIn my garden.  Death feels chilly so he wants a morning back on Earth. I told him I admired his iris paintings.  He thanked me, didn’t..

Headless martyrs are riding caribou intothe international forest again. Fairies sippingnectar from hyacinths chuckle at this scene. They remember why bushmen lick beehiveswith honey-coated tongues..

draw a bath.with crayons?how does one color water? clear does not do justice,the glisten of droplets on skin.I’ll draw us a bath, you said, and I sawan..