2021
Lips part in a flame's memory, a body's longing amidst grief and…
Read more →Sneak Peek into Issue 11
Grief transforms the domestic into an uncanny landscape, where everyday objects become conduits for memory and absence, profoundly reshaping the self's navigation of reality.
May 15, 2024
In the corridor on the ground
floor, the dog smelling the orange
to sniff out its intentions as if a shrunk
planet had landed in sinister disguise
on earth. Right above, on the first
floor, the door snuck out of its loose latch
letting a longitude of light ornament
your shy calves. You rose, heaped up the medley
of clothes lying on the floor like urchin stars
banished from the ceiling and launched them
into the laundry bin. And then suddenly
remembering, you fumble through the pile
to find a black vest, veil your face with it,
smelling its fabric worn by your beloved last
night. You’re hungry but your stomach is so
full you can’t eat. You wear the black vest
underneath a black shirt and go to work.
You wait till sunset to have your breakfast.
Satya Dash
Satya Dash is a recipient of the Srinivas Rayaprol Poetry Prize and a finalist for the Broken River Prize. His poems appear in Ninth Letter, Denver Quarterly, Poet Lore, Prairie Schooner, Cincinnati Review, and Diagram, among others. Apart from having a degree in electronics from BITS Pilani-Goa, he has been a cricket commentator. He has been nominated previously for Pushcart, Nina Riggs Poetry Award, Orison Anthology and Best New Poets. He grew up in Cuttack and now lives in Bangalore, India.