Fiction

It’s her lipstick that piques my interest. A blood red crescent drawn precisely in the middle of her full mouth, like a young Geisha’s, except the pigment doesn’t keep within the confines of her lips but extends down her chin in a sharp line. Is it...

One Wednesday in August, I decide to haiku and eulogize my mother. Not at the same time, of course. I could never fit a haiku around my Ma. 17 syllables would be far too many for her euphony. Ghrrrrrrr ghrrrrrrrr ghrrrrrrr was the only sound she...

Published in the Kindle Mag “You can’t play with those boys under the jamun tree!” warned his grandmother as Amit reached out to push the heavy black metal gate open. “Why?” He wanted to scream the why out, but knew better. “Because they’re dirty,...