July 2023
In this issue
Contents
May the Archives Sing
TBR’s Editor, Maitreyee Chowdhury, pens a heartfelt note on the closure of Poetry at Sangam, an e-journal that showcased work from India and all the world over.
“The Body and Data as Translation and Post-Colonial Futurism”: A Conversation with Akil Kumarasamy
Shalvi Shah interviews Akil Kumarasamy, author of Meet Us by the Roaring Sea and Half Gods.
The Remains of a Song
He was older than her, but she was maternal toward him, nonetheless. “Dear”, “sweetie” and “honey” littered her conversation. But he had grown tired of her kindnesses. She has always been good to him and Caroline, but kindness turned to sympathy upon Caroline’s passing.
Where The Heart Is
Mom doesn’t throw things away, not since the time she got rid of a waterproof travel bag thinking she would never need one, until her knitting group made a trip to the river and everyone but she had a waterproof travel bag. Never again, she vowed.
The Pickers
She wears a pink shirt and a floppy straw hat but you can see her eyes, big and brown. She smiles wide, not shy at all like you figure you’d be if you were in her country and a Mexican stranger waved at you from her Mama’s car on the side of a road. Mama is already driving again.
A Toast
In years past they had had larger holiday gatherings. She had grown up living next door to her favorite cousins, her mother’s sister’s family. Christmas Eve and Christmas morning were always with her cousins, both girls, the same ages as she and her brother. To her, they were like sisters. Early Christmas morning, they would open stockings at one of their houses, then their uncle Kip would show up dressed like Santa Claus with a huge box of gifts for all of them.
I Am Just a Sepoy
Ammi has become thin as a bamboo. Her eyes bulge out like a Tiddi. She coughs all day. I cannot tell whether due to lack of food or if she is heartbroken. Still, we are safe. Do not be anxious about us.
The Brotherhood
Fade Into You melts down lumbar curvature. Gish, she sings her lullaby. No fissures form in the foundation, no 737 jet stream goodnight.
In Search of a Body
the way you stood at a stove stirring tall pots of beans in a dank soup kitchen where tracked snow melted in pools
Beacon
the height where space travel becomes animal instinct. The theory of constellations: take a cosmic razor to the horizon, where the spoils of day,
Two Kindnesses No. 2
One. On the eve of your citizenship’s trash day, and especially if you’re an eager beaver, wait until at least 7:30p to take your trash out to the curb. (9 or 10p is kinder, and 11p is kinder yet,
The Lady of Shalott Dreams of Peace
Today I turned. Today I turned and saw beyond the tapestry, beyond the glass, beyond the lattice, the bee, the bright leaves. I saw the rising smokes of Baghdad, New York, Dresden, Portland, Jericho, and Thebes.
Justice for my Mother Tongue
Language and what it means? What is lost even in the best of translations? There are some of the questions that the author ponders over. along with how language and cultures are much more closely related than they actually seem to be.
Putting It Together
The author rediscovers patience and the art of embracing cracks, but not without the serendipitious help from a 4 year old!