by Surosree Chaudhuri | Feb 3, 2021 | 2021, February, Flash Fiction
Granny fed me ghosts until my belly strained. “Just one more, Elsie,” she said as she lowered the ghost. He flapped on the end of her hook – all grimace and shoulders. I shook my head so hard my plaits thwumped my cheeks. “Why, when I was half your age and thrice as...
by Surosree Chaudhuri | Jan 27, 2021 | 2021, January, Poetry
Little niece of mine, the first time I held you I briefly understood why people have children. The weight of you, all 5 pounds ½ ounce of you, felt like the whole of this blue Earth in my arms, and the sound of your sleeping breath must have been the sound Existence...
by Junpei Tarashi | Jan 18, 2021 | 2021, January, Poetry
One shoulder lowered manicured cities arched tender like sea breath we willow fan-like we forestall foam ...
![[Home Travelogues] Episode: Encounters with Stationary Humans](https://www.agapanthuscollective.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/01/Preview-1080x670.jpg)
by Junpei Tarashi | Jan 14, 2021 | 2021, January, Poetry
Homes retreat to humans glued to their notions. Through the highway of roots, they arrive like shade, incubate human eggs that plead, stay till we hatch from stillness. But we never do— human windmills, in anticipation of wind/human hills, in anticipation of snug...
by Junpei Tarashi | Jan 7, 2021 | 2021, Flash Fiction, January
I first met Larry late one Friday night in 1984 and he did not bite me. Larry didn’t even look the type to bite. He was urbane, sophisticated, with what some might call good breeding. Not that I would have told him that. He might have thought I was referring to...
