who remembers
after they wither . . .
azaleas
—Zahra Mughis
peace lilies
writing her son’s
obituary
—Jahnavi Gogoi
spelling bee—
my name mere syllables
in a new country
—Jahnavi Gogoi
He never remembered the accident. Just the bumps, sirens pulsing out distant windows, a storm of red and white. Strangers worked over his body, rocking with waves. They pulled daggers from his skin, stabbed him with their own. Pressed deep in his chest. Numbness crept up his limbs, enfolded him in an empty hug. In that moment, the EMTs became his best friends. He cast his precious message in a bottle toward the shore, then slipped into the ocean.
almost dusk
a mynah tiptoes
on gulmohar petals
—Arvinder Kaur
snapping beans
my sister and I
unburden
—Arvinder Kaur
jungle walk
he proposes to me
with a wildflower
—Arvinder Kaur
road trip
we argue over the flavor
of potato chips --
how different the worlds
we come from
—Mona Bedi
a sea
of rainbow plastics
whale belly
—Roberta Beach Jacobson
karaoke night . . .
clearing the room fast
mosquito song
—Roberta Beach Jacobson
pushing empty wheelchair across the room widower
—Roberta Beach Jacobson
frogspawn
a gentle glow
of distant lightning
—Eugeniusz Zacharski
cold night
nebulae
drift apart
—Eugeniusz Zacharski
(Last update, May 16, 2026) Email for submissions: journalcoldmoon(at)gmail(dot)com Editors: Timothy Daly, Oana Cercel. ~~~~ You may submi...