He washes under cold water and his sins clog the drain. Blocks of black bakhoor burn by the mirror filling the bathroom with the scent of the Kaaba.
Dreamers Creative Writing is dedicated to writing that is from the heart.
The bus, like all buses in Hyderabad, smells like lemons… and people. Landlocked and sweltering, Hyderabadians have developed an affinity for citrus.
I was ten years old when I concluded my grandfather was illiterate. I approached him with one of my books one day...
You stand at edge of the hole that your mother dug for herself — not for you — but still. You peer down, at the stairs planted into the dirt wall...
Today I will lay him to rest, scattering his ashes in this extraordinarily beautiful setting.
Here is nourishment, we tried to say, here is something to sustain the lives remaining, the hearts that still beat..
Some writers say that they can’t work under deadline – they can create only when inspiration comes. They ignore milestones.
As soon as Alan Baker walked through the door, he knew he was in trouble. There was a less-than-subtle sign...
I wanted to plug my ears. I wanted to run away. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me...
Some catalyst would send my heart racing, my lungs suddenly too large for my rib cage. Mouth glued to a vaporizer...
Shapes of Native Nonfiction delivers 27 lyric essays from 18 indigenous authors. The essays are grouped into four sections—technique, coiling, plaiting, and twining.
I long for that boring state of alignment that I can rely on sharing with those around me...
