A third-floor apartment, full of emotion— lilies on the table, a coat on a chair, and a man standing by a fireplace, where flames are

When I stepped on the last fugitive cheerio, on the last day that my baby boy was in his high chair, I stopped and dropped

I put on my grandmother’s silk saree. She wore it just once, on her sister’s wedding  day, then passed it on to my mother, who 

In dreams, I’m still decoding the jagged ending, chipped and sharp. In so small a room that hope is the spectral hand of could have

polaroid rain on the porch mid-morning i’m holding your head in my arms because this is what we do when we want to keep each

Sometimes I brought the well to you. Sometimes you found the well. Among eternal cedars, blackbirds, gray Aged stones narrating that which had Passed. Sometimes

your damp voice slipped against mossy edges made of limestone soil-sullied water beaded, then plunked but did not deter the tone—the sweet, coppery taste of

Shame is a spotlight in our eyes. The audience applauds others while we hide in the shadows. Grab a shovel to bury sorrow under snow,

Before you begin, separate out all expectations and discard (do not bother setting aside for use later or for any other relationships as unfulfilled expectations

You and I are two sides of the same coin, Separated only by a sliver of silver Yet somehow never fated to meet. I cannot

Send us your love. We are nearly empty. We must postpone our balloon release of hearts and flowers until our queue is filled. Help us

A solitary leaf dangles from the barren tree Once so vibrant and luscious Now I look away. The grey skies are foreboding Filled with stark

The Wonder Years, the Lost Years I miss the sudden unfurling of passion in youth, the love like camera flash that instant blinds and fixes

                   “How beautiful you must be                     to

Man, married, seeking one time only. Divorced, past her prime, smiles upon request, filthier than all the rest. Must be discreet, no expectations please, begging