At the end of its oh so very long string the kite whipsaws its way into the air red-faced and angry that it cannot go where it will like the dark blur of the dragonfly down near the grass
She said, My birth mark is the shape of Africa. So now you try: lift an entire continent up in your arms and then walk down the hall, your hips still dancing wide beneath that weight. Now just you try.
Murmurs a little in his sleep lips push in push out wakes up hungry hungry Can’t be still can’t can’t not cry fist clenched, ankle flexed jerks his head back, holding the nipple still in his mouth ____________In New Delhi the price of milk… Continue Reading “Shiva by Susanna Lang”