Headbutt UK

We talk, our breaths spilling in white gusts, and that old, fairytale London, where the wolves were very much real, comes back as vivid as a story whispered in a child’s ear. And something else, something surprising, begins to happen. For the first time in years, perhaps the first time ever, I’m sharing memories with my older brother.



RECENTLY PUBLISHED


close up of skin of human's back with scratch marks

Skin

This skin has listened as I have tried to formulate sentences and protests to how it has been handled, and then has accepted that I have done nothing to save it from being touched.


In the Shadows of the Canyon

We go lower into myth and memory, the glimmery edge where the slabs and entablatures slow us down through a pass.


Object Lessons

I was convinced my body was dragging my soul to damnation. And so I tried to save myself by throwing myself away.


Queen of All Spaces

Our dining room table is the queen of all spaces in our home.  It carries our fears and secrets.  It offers us a place to eat our meals, sit, rest, and reflect.


Bhangra

The dance I wanted to learn? Bhangra. One person beats a large double-headed drum, the dhol, while folks in colorful clothing move on the balls of their feet, twist their wrists, and stretch out their arms. It’s an enchanting traditional dance; but somewhere in its migration from India to other countries, the dance snorted some cocaine and became frantic and hyper, choreographed to a conglomeration of Punjabi music and hip-hop. A way to get the general public more interested, I guess. Modern Bhangra was probably not what the farmers had in mind when they celebrated in villages long ago, but its origin made it my priority to master.


Red Strings

I once wrote that my parents left me no legacy. I wanted to write about the negative space that adoption carves.