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
back home
the firm green
of mangoes
—Vaishnavi Ramaswamy
wildflowers the ruddiness of her laughter
—Vaishnavi Ramaswamy
Diwali lights . . .
you and me
in our shadows
—Vaishnavi Ramaswamy
solitary moon—
the hum
of a singing bowl
—Vaishnavi Ramaswamy
a round-bellied calico—
the birth and death
of generations
a mother sees
in her lifetime
—Vaishnavi Ramaswamy
how rapidly
those memories swell
like chia seeds in water
i soak my anger
and drink it down
—Vaishnavi Ramaswamy
seven times over
nomads
changing homes
my son revels
in the joy of new spaces
—Vaishnavi Ramaswamy
(Last update, Apr 17, 2025) Email for submissions: journalcoldmoon(at)gmail(dot)com Editors: Timothy Daly, Oana Cercel. ~~~~ You may submi...