Monday, May 27, 1912 Laid my mother to (permanent) rest a night agoGazed along her coffinetching it into […]
There I was, crouched like a cat with my palms to the concrete, trying to make out my reflection in the gray puddles since the pain was too searing to swallow. In my pocket I had four useless aspirin, one expired credit card, and five and a half nauseating cigarettes. And no water.
I feel it in my whole body. My mouth no longer salivates for the food, instead mechanically clamping and releasing, willing my throat to swallow the soggy lump. My grandma eyes me.
Finish your food.
Her skin, once gleaming with coppery iridescence, is now riddled with new corrosion. Its sheen was replaced as years passed and She stood as an emblem of American pride, an ever-present reminder of what we hope to stand for. This change in Her skin makes Her no less alluring – Her green hue serves as a testament to all She has endured: harsh weather, the decades gone by, and an indefinite lifetime as an object of attraction.
More sweetly than you ever have, the bottle of ethanol murmurs my name.
Craven is surrender, yet all the more foolish it is to remain in this hell
So I give in –
Liquid sizzling as it denatures the secrets lodged in my esophagus
The chemical scorching my putrefied abdomen, burning against my spine
Every trace of you now vaporized to a ghost.
My tongue and throat alight in flames and my stomach a graveyard, I return to myself to find close to nothing left
But you are also gone.
When I gain consciousness,You’re slumped on the floor.Blood pouring,Face ashen,Lip curled in a slight smile. I cannot bear […]
Now I must confess, 2024 is the first year that I have ever truly attended TIFF.
Must see films and red carpet highlights.
Bloodied white wings—
I look like a medieval painting
Article coming soon…
We are forever tied together, wherever we are in this world.
Photos by Joseph Priolo
He is almost gone, he does not tell anymore
of the Partition
When you and I first met, you sounded the vowels of my name out—I warned you that my limbs may vanish in the last sung ‘a.’
By Sipora WestEdited by Ellena Lu and Alloe Mak I don’t know exactly what a prayer is. Mary […]
On nights when I’m especially tired or feel a cold breeze through my hair, I close my eyes and see those grey walls with my mother’s curtains and lost time through my eyelids.
Disarmed, another year folds upon itself. Trains, planes, and automobiles—your virile body—delivered you as far as the earth reaches.
The past didn’t haunt. It waited. And it stayed, long after everyone else had gone.