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Pretend he’s not Real

Pretend he’s not Real

  Plant your gaze on anything but his face. His face—less than ten in years lived holding orbs cave-rimmed dark, deep. At the traffic signal. Your car hums a cool song at 42 degrees Celsius.   Pick up your phone and stare at the screen....

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Devi Divine of Garden Pots

Devi Divine of Garden Pots

Devi Divine of garden pots (and patch of green plot) stood verdant resplendent at my dehleez and said Your garden, my child, is full to the brim. I’ve done what I could with hibiscus and neem. Not forgetting frangipani, of course. She holds, like...

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Racism at a Concert

Racism at a Concert

I pick pebbles from riverbeds and distant shores mark them with names: places they were picked and arrange them on my desk, windowsills. Indelible bookmarks of a day in the sun, family fun. Holidays far from home. Kashmir, Chicago, Cyprus....

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A Fully  Functional Feminist

A Fully Functional Feminist

The moon split in half – unequal, lopsided hides behind unseasonal clouds half-hidden, clearly visible as I take one step after another on my evening walk. “Why do we need feminism?” a question I’d read recently follows me down the quiet road. The...

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