Thursday, January 16, 2014


Two hours after my first love left me I
punched a wall
so hard that I could see
the first man and his lover etched in red
in the concave part
of craters carved by my knuckles. Cave art.
My mother wrapped my hands in wallpaper
and said
that some people have bricks in their hearts that need cementing
and some have walls that need painting.
I did not understand how to paint walls, only how to break them
or color them red.
Some walls aren't meant to be broken,
my mother said.
Some walls are there to hold up your soul.
Some walls just need paper.

Sunday, January 12, 2014


Sochi stole her sister's silks and wrote a poem in clothes on her body.
It was not an ode to love. It was an ode to beauty.

When I saw her like that, under the moonlight,
she looked like a bride. Her skin was white, white like the moon
but the white was so bright
that her smile was just an eclipse.

Ma always said that mirrors were khatham, so i only looked in them
when it was dark.
They say Bhagwan sees through the eyes of children.
When my daughter asks me if he sees her eyes in the dark,
I am tempted to answer: "only the whites."


Mahum told me that her mouth tasted of pennies.
There are worlds trapped inside my soul, she whispered.
there were chipped cities in her teeth, scarred skyscrapers.
and when she yawned i swear i saw the world implode.
Where are the worlds? i asked.
I swallowed them, she said, and smiled the smile of a broken woman.
I pressed my fingers into the dental records hidden in apple skins and
tried to stay the shattered dam of her tears.
I thought if i plugged my fingers into the gutters of her gums, her screams would stop.
MY MOUTH IS MONEY she screeched
and with every kiss sold her soul
a little bit.
My mouth tastes of pennies, Mahum said.
When I kissed her, all i tasted was rust.