I amble the beach as waves fall and rise and fall again. The wind whips at my down jacket and shifts the sand dunes across a worn pebble path we walked as children. I haven’t been back since her wake but find myself at her favorite dock.
guy rope
her hand steadies
my heartbeat
sipping chai
i sway to the rhythm
of oldies
the whiplash when you slip
in a let’s break up
—Mohua Maulik
I’ve been thinking about a friend I haven’t seen for forty years. One New Year’s Eve when we were in our twenties, we drank wine, played backgammon and told stories late into the night. She shared one about her Japanese mother at the start of a new year. She was sweeping last year’s dust out the front door, and suddenly froze in place.
stray cat
the green eyes
of grandfather
Christmas morning—
on the fridge door
my sister's ultrasound
—Steliana Cristina Voicu
dimineaţă de Crăciun -
pe uşa frigiderului
ecografia surorii mele
—Steliana Cristina Voicu
It's almost past midnight. With the soft tick-tick of the clock in my room and the faint, distant music from outside, I somehow like this moment. Now that nights have grown colder and quieter, and the breeze is crisp, I can even listen to the tree in our backyard. And I'm inclined to believe my thoughts are being heard too.
The rustle of a page turning echoes in the room. I set the book aside to look outside again, to hear the tree. Somehow I remember the books in my wishlist, although many on the bookshelf still sit unread, waiting to be opened.
Yet I seek a new adventure in this mundane and cold night perhaps the darkness reveals its own story too, and it is for me to find mine.
soft glow
of the streetlamp
in the misty night. . .
the immersion
in our lost sighs
passerby's smile
dark thoughts
fly away
—Aleksandra Rybczyńska
harvest time
the village waits
for grandma's dinner
—Aleksandra Rybczyńska
We get very sunny winters here in Providence, which you were always noticing. I've begun picking up on it too. But the light is thin, empty. It doesn't weigh on your back like the sun in New York; it dances, it sings, it whips with the wind which we had also always seen. When it grows too weak the night settles in. Dark chills slip past my walls and through my bedsheets and, without fail, I think of you, though only because I have no one else to think of.
on the nightstand
dust
and a box of tissues
Every night is the same; frost seeps in from the windowpane, moonlight thins on the ceiling. Eventually I fall asleep. Last night I met someone in a cramped kitchen with big eyes and pretty lips. She made me think of you - she left, as did everyone else, as did I. In the morning the sun fell lightly across my room, as it always does, bringing little warmth. I've been thinking of you less. I'm sure you have too.
dusk
my broken radiator
hissing affirmations
ants in the greenhouse
in the crowded subway
I am the smallest
fourmis dans la serre
dans le métro bondé
je suis la plus petite
—Marie Derley
*
small regrets
a boy throwing pebbles
in the lake
petits regrets
un garçon lance des cailloux
dans le lac
—Marie Derley
such wispy fingers
my granddaughter
just born;
and she really
looks like me
—Pitt Büerken
falling darkness...
left lonely on the playground
a doll
—Pitt Büerken
game night
aunt no longer plays
memory cards
—Martina Matijević
history lesson—
heal hatred
then spread it
—Martina Matijević
first date
she chooses the seat
nearest the exit
—Richard E Schell
quiet bedroom
the dust
on the crib
—Richard E Schell
dinner table talk
about our future
crossed fingers
—Patricia Hawkhead
sky pollution
we both dream
of lost stars
—Patricia Hawkhead
jisei book
learning to write
the last page
—Oscar Luparia
winter wind
the leaves can't choose
where to fall
—Oscar Luparia
roos sprawled
in winter sun —
watching cyclists
—Rohan Buettel
uber driver
a new father
shows me photos
—Rohan Buettel
a clearing
in the dense forest —
bald spot
—Rohan Buettel
A prolonged cold draught of air from the AC blows on my face. The constant light of the phone screen has left me with dry eyes. Conversations feel like a wheel of fortune about to tumble over. The stillness of the evening yawning into a night brings with it a range of memories. I indulge in work. After a sustained period of activity, just this will to lie motionless…
autumn dusk
a hedgehog shuffles
through leaves
Some mornings it feels as if all the moments have been written, every emotion explored, every leaf already turned brown in someone else's poem, every full moon and every flicker of stars has been captured in three succinct lines.
Then, on the very same day, something shifts and I end up discovering an aha moment, that is unmistakably, undeniably mine.
3 a.m.
my husband stirs
at the click of my pen