The woman with a not quite toddler on her hip weaves at a loom. / She is full of is and she is standing. How she weaves with one hand is / a mystery, even to her. But it has something to do with bone / straightness of her back.
What Black Women Have Let Me Get Away With by Olatunde Osinaike
Trans Angel at the Coffee Shop on Press St. by Theo Triplett
vimōcane by Vriddhi Vinay
It’s the pollution of a freezing temple basement air by voices in intonation with their caste and the odor of garam masala. It’s the Dental Hygienist placing the gurgling rod suctioning my saliva into my mouth when my jaw is too busy running through the same prayer before shloka practice. It’s being a single cell in tissue of bruised skin..