May 12, 2010By Trisha Bora The Lonely Grave of Paula Schultz Tonight, there’s been a burial. A careless hammering of nails into a dry casket – by men drunk on moonshine – breaks the night, scattering the weevils and owls into the rising moon. They’ve taken my words, my amour, my knife and left me here to fill the […] June 23, 2009By Nitoo Das Beloved, I’m tired and this drying body remembers the crane- white of your nails tonight. The widows come in limp droves everyday and my ears scorch with their words. Today, Shanta told me “They gave me powders to choke my daughter.” Her hands kept fluttering to her head as if to touch dream hair. […] |
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