In our city, the floodgates are kept shut by a machine powered on human breath. We call it the regulator. It listens to the lungs the same way a metronome listens to music. If rhythm breaks, the gates slip. Then the river takes everything.
Continue reading “They Say It’s Wonderful by Prin Sairungsri”
By the time the rain arrived in earnest, the house already knew where it would fail.
The first leak appeared near the window. One drop fell with stubborn consistency, as if the roof had chosen that spot long before the clouds gathered. At first, it was easy to ignore. Rain always starts politely in Liberia, tapping the zinc roof the way a visitor taps a door—soft, respectful, almost apologetic. You tell yourself it will pass. You tell yourself the house has survived worse.
Continue reading “The Weather that Lives With Us by Marvin Garbeh Davis”
Looking out over the bridge, you can see widows in their sarees and gold bangles and solemn, painted faces. Above them, the sun emits a last, romantic orange which blends with the blue of the previous sky, creating stripes of pink which bring the two colors together. The air smells of death.
Continue reading “Please, Varanasi by Arjun Shah”
