by Surosree Chaudhuri | May 29, 2024 | 2024 May, Poetry
The old sugar maple that no longer has a lush crown of leaves, still has paved the ground with scarlet, orange, golden and all gradients. Even in its old age, in summer a city of many birds. Now the fallen leaves are the brightest things around with few flowers still...
by Surosree Chaudhuri | May 28, 2024 | 2024 May, Poetry
why is my throat not a garden from my childhood every morning I suffocate from the lies of the weather and dirt
by Surosree Chaudhuri | May 26, 2024 | 2024 May, Poetry
I wish I could frame this — this feeling right here, see? Not a mischievous specter at the edge; no — this one’s a dandelion yellow juggernaut right at the center. Life is such a peppy innovator, is it not? With its funny Rube Goldberg machines plunking us to spots so...
by Surosree Chaudhuri | May 25, 2024 | 2024 May, Poetry
I don’t. You just read a lot of my PTSD poems, I say. I don’t know how to write a PTSD poem. PTSD makes it so you can’t write. Instead you just sit there, staring at the newspaper, not able to read. Instead, people read me like the news. They read my scars, one that...
by Junpei Tarashi | Oct 19, 2023 | 2023 April, Poetry
The Banana spider has a date with the moon. She’s cleaning her shimmering bullseye where she holds court, reeling out those delicate wisps that restrain her captives. She awaits the moon’s inching ascent through laddered strands where it beckons small night creatures...
by Junpei Tarashi | Oct 18, 2023 | 2023 October, Poetry
She picks me up, CD player blasting the voices of a thousand women, together in ceremony. Leaves blur together yelloworangered passing by, as my own voice joins them, the air whooshing through open windows, in agreement. A dull ache in my belly contracts to the beat,...
