“Wake up, rascals. See who is here,” trills our aunt Sivamathi.
Her high-pitched shrill vibrates off her tongue against her palate and pierces through our sleep.
“It must be Muttu, that rickety idiot, come to torture us with puzzles,” I guess.
With sunshine trembling on our eyelashes and seeping into our bodies, we two brothers continue to stretch ourselves lazily.
Continue reading “Bulls and Blood, Line and Lineage by Chitra Gopalakrishnan”
Callahan wishes the voices would stop, but they never do. Some are soft as a caress, some are screamed out shrill. Some are wistful sighs of longing, some are determined mantras. Some are woven with glee, some are drowned in sorrow. No matter what they are, they never stop, swirling around his head, taunting him to listen, daring him to comfort, daring him to help, daring him to laugh, daring him to cry.
Continue reading “Autumn Eyes Lost, Autumn Eyes found by Anmitra Jagannathan”
Long time site friend David Henson has published everything from tragedy to jocularity with us. He excels at stretching reality until you believe that, why yes, I can see a future in which handling a black mamba for forty seconds without dying can improve one’s credit score.
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – Byrds Syndrome by David Henson”
It Hurts When I Do That…
Everyone has a touch of hypochondria in them. I have more than a fair share; for me the constant certainty that I am dying began in the third grade.
Our teacher, Mrs. West, assigned desks in alphabetical order. With an “A” surname not only did I usually set the bar for futility in P.E. (for I was and remain as athletic as a cactus), but when the subject was arranged-seating, I’d be in the first row, close to, if not in front. For five years (until her family relocated to California after the fifth grade) I could count on Veronica Allen to be seated in front of me. Ronnie and I were friends because I made her look like Wonder Woman when we had to fall in line for chin-ups in second grade (she sort of did one, then I began my athletic career as The Reliable Zero–I considered it my way of making the other kids feel better about themselves).
Continue reading “Week 380- Doctor, Doctor Please; The Week That Is and Hey Could You Play Another Someone Diseased Somebody Wrong Song?”
My simple wooden church was all-but empty when I stepped up to the pulpit to give mass to the congregation. I had half expected it.
When Beltane fell on a Sunday, it seemed to draw out the heretical tendencies of my flock. Every year, they would abscond to some secret glade in the woods, to celebrate the coming of the summer, to pray to a heathen god for verdant growth and an abundant harvest. This year was no different.
Continue reading “Jack in the Green by Lee Stoddart”
It took seven minutes of her time, seven minutes of his time, and time was as precious as ever to them. He was on his way to a potluck breakfast (for which he hadn’t even bought his dish yet) and she was on her way to buy a new dress for her mother’s wedding before going to work. Neither of them had time for this but, luckily, it didn’t take much time. Everyone was in agreement about that.
Continue reading “Sexed by Mark Saba”
Yunmin lived in a patchwork apartment–mismatched, patched, and paper-thin, held together by red thread and a prayer. There were words on the walls; looping, colorful cursive on the mirrors and windows, written in whiteboard marker. He once admired it: the sharp ink, the crisp angles, the spider-like intricacy of every line and dotted letter. To sit and look about his mother’s house was like being trapped amidst a pastel and most perfect plague.
Continue reading “Home Remedy By Young Tanoto”
I leaned against the largest maple tree, planted hungry years before upon a leech trench in my back yard, watching my going out of me at play and shining the souls of mirrors back, telling each other what we knew.
I loved him from the tree, later a window dark-squared above the wide grass, as I leaned toward his hands moving out of himself, making; and the corners of the house, the inners and outers hammered upwards from my hand in late repair.
Continue reading “Flashing Mirrors at a House Built in 1742 by Tom Sheehan”
A brightly hued rag covered Kanmani’s eyes as she hopped daintily over the grid of numbered squares drawn hurriedly on the stone floor. “Right-a?” she asked, pausing on one leg. “Right-u”, came the response, confirming that Kanmani was within the boundaries of a square. This “Right-a/Right-u” exchange continued a few more times, until Kanmani stepped on a line and lost her chance. It was Kaveri’s turn now. Kaveri removed Kanmani’s blindfold, placed her gently on a chair nearby, and proceeded to tie the rag over her own eyes. She ensured that her blindfold was loose enough to allow her to catch little peeks through the cracks. Closing her eyes tight, she hopped to what she thought was the first square and paused, balancing gingerly on one foot. “Right-a?”, she asked, opening her eyes wide enough to peek at the floor, checking whether her foot was within the square. “Right-u”, answered Kanmani. Kaveri smiled, closed her eyes and hopped to the next square. She loved playing this game called “Paandi”, with Kanmani.
Continue reading “The Kumari by Naga Vydyanathan”
Whenever I read of domestic abuse I always think “If anyone did that to me, he’d be picking up teeth.” Fortunately, that has never been put to task in my world, but if so, would I react as I say? I really don’t know, I might go for an eye instead.
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – Bubbles by Diane M Dickson”
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