Published in the Levinthal Anthology (2019)

the culmination of years of saving and spending:

papa’s ill-fitting suit pants, hiding

freshly shined brown leather shoes.

mama’s cheeks, throbbing

from smiling at a slow-moving house party. their rushed,

biting whispers in the kitchen.

the neighbours trip over the shoes at the door. survey

Ganesha, remover of obstacles, stuck behind potted plant. altar

to Hanuman on children’s bookshelf.

they stomp on the floors swept of our shed brown skin.

our bodies sting and the neighbours suggest we redecorate.

Published in the Levinthal Anthology (2019)

I coaxed god out from between my teeth yesterday.

Offered her three pieces of lint

from my jacket pocket. Sang

her name up to the skies. Ate two lemons whole.

Shredded paper into triangular pieces by hand.

Papa took out the lemon skins at 5:25am.

Swept the paper off the table. Washed the jacket. Made me

breakfast: bread toasted on the thava soaked with ghee.

Green, orange melon sliced by hand.

I woke up to cold toast in a steel plate on the table. Flies in the fruit.

Published in the Levinthal Anthology (2019)

The second day Adi is in the hospital, I set my car’s sixth preset

to a Hindi station I find on the way to visit him.

It’s December and the trees have forgotten my name.

Adi kisses me so hard it hurts my teeth. Leans in to whisper

in my ear and bites down on flesh instead. On the third day,

three sparrows sit on an iron pipe outside my window.

By the fourth, Adi doesn’t blink an eye anymore

at screams from the hallway. I buy a dark

red parka. Leave him

with a green crayon and coloring pages covered in words.

Published in The Leland Quarterly (2018)

i am lanky and gangly and contorted

and fully human. with lumpy-eyed breasts pointed

forward, i choose

to be naked and big

to plead with God is to speak

with myself. i ask myself to dance

Published in the Chautauqua Literary Journal (2015)

I wanted to truly be with him—

so I begged him to let me see

into the recesses of his mind,

the depths of his soul, the crooks

of his heart. He shared,

guiding me through cobwebs

in his brain, opening

creaking doors, memories of someone

he was not anymore?

His spirit harbored only rotten skeletons, moaning

girls in his chest. He smiled

but his eyes were no longer kind;

His cold hand held mine. Shadows covered his face

as the wall between us grew higher, thicker