Has it rained enough for all of her blood to be washed away?Have the clouds beaten......

I can’t help but panicThere’s a lost poemInside caresses of handsOf women who never learned to......

Who made dinner while Rumi whirled?Who mopped the floors while Rabindranath sat in quiet contemplationAnd did......

we are girlsour wild mares do not rush like raintowards the endings of our lines squares......

Hiding under the bedThe child bride holds in her handsA book of stories. Next to her......

let’s call her neela, those wild blue eyessapphire gazingwhile you point a white torch in the......

It is the nerve of us, the verve of usstanding still, holding hands, keepingthe line of......

The wetlands freckle with surface iceas I slough-off my disguise and sink belowthe water. I hope......

When I was in my teachable years, which was up to the age of ten or......