The Bangalore Review

Memory is the sense of loss and loss pulls us after it.Marilynne Robinson, Housekeeping The air tonight invites the dense warren of smoke from your..

This is a perpetual mourning poem. If you were told to livefast, you’ll be aghast at life’s stretch,a thing too long for haiku, sinceelegies have..

All this contradictory newsobviously spewsdigitized perplexities of truth: clattering electrons andcross-eyed geesesparkly and smartly sneezing liberal this, conservative that; flying smack-dabbit into windowstranslucent glass walls..

Time will bring relief, you all have lied   –Edna St. Vincent Millay On the freeway, a cop cruiser pulls beside me in the hiss of..

A rafter in the back woods:five toms and eighteen hens,a remnant of the Pilgrim myththat predicated genocide. Bobbing heads and fanned tails,almost our national bird...

let us go then you and Iwhen the evening has wretchedly passed and diedlike cremations sanctified far gone unstablelet us so through curtained half-perverted sweetsthe..

A jar of sea salt rests on the table     Of the woman whose home is at the edge      of the pavement in middle Vermont.Close..

I mean like this morning.While streaming 24/7.Somebody’s hijab blew off. Tagging the rotunda of intersectionality.Shooting the pier of othering.The quality of the rip unsurpassed. An..

We look at the world once, in childhood.The rest is memory.Louise Glück These streets birthed a humdrum infancy,a Salvadoran consistency.The calmness of tortillas, thick, our..

I found a mandir once in Kathmandu,Enclosed in vines, surrounded by a street, With no door visible, its carvings worn…And asked which god it was devoted..