FINAL RESTING PLACE

by Kashiana Singh

An American dream turned nightmare: Four members of a Sikh family in California kidnapped and killed. —CNN, 6 October 2022

Merced County, California

harvested ground, haze of vijay dashmi

            lingering, skull smashing night

            of rakshasa's ten heads, family

            of four, found. tossed. taken. 

sweet daughter of god, Aroohi nestled

asleep, an orchard of almonds

her bed, maggots swimming 

in a baby’s gourmand breath

a nip in California air, draped them

            as complicit as a shroud of

velvet cases on edible nuts

            a blush ash on their eyelids

at home, a bowl of blessed parshad

            is untouched, effigies of the

            demon king ablaze, shrouds

            of starlings depart, crowning

at the feet of a mother, wailing fists

            on breast, a lamenting hum

rises, a rasp from her throat

a paddock of grief ruptured

erasing the monsters of distant love

            father, eyes jittery like locusts

hands peeling the skins of five

blanched almonds, organic raw 

california grown, new day breaks into

            night, a kite across an ocean of

            fairytales, heavy footed he steps

            forward, to bring cadavers back

Kashiana Singh strives to embody the essence of her TEDx talk—Work as Worship into her everyday. Her newest full-length collection Woman by the Door was released in 2022 with Apprentice House Press. Her chapbook Crushed Anthills with Yavanika Press is a loco descriptive journey through 10 cities. Kashiana lives in North Carolina and carries her various geopolitical homes within her poetry.

IF YOU SHOULD STUMBLE ACROSS ME IN THE BARREN WOODS

by Amna Alamir

“Barren Wood” by Mindy Newman

Hooded and lonesome, untie 

the shrouds and the clouds that 

walk among you and I will 

gently open inviting you in.

Reach out with tender curiosity 

your fingertips, feign a lasso out 

of heartstrings and I will share 

the taste of the ocean, the many 

travels I have bottled up and 

tossed at perturbed sailors.

Where they turned their backs on me: 

this is night country 

this isn’t right country 

in the blackness I am suffocating 

this isn’t my country. 

My body is changing 

has taken on your culture 

and become momentarily ill. 

There are parts of me 

I had to give up, I lost 

gave to you in exchange 

for your acceptance. 

I covered myself in barberries 

ginger root, cardamom. 

I am a rare sighting, now

beyond the star-shaped stars 

that float like lucid ribbons 

when it is time to die 

the earth shivers. 

 

Amna Alamir is a Kuwaiti writer who currently studies and resides in the UK. She is finishing up her MA in Creative Writing from the University of East Anglia and is pursuing further research on silence, the female voice, and somatic practices. 

COVID-19 LIPOGRAM

by Martin Elster

Kay Scanlon / Los Angeles Times; Getty Images

Masking my physiognomy
may blight my glorious bond with you.
Your shroud, part of your armory,
brings to mind this bugaboo

bugging all of us. So now
as you and I chat through our masks,
although your orbs and striking brow
may knit or grin, a ticklish task

awaits us: To concoct a way
to talk with hands, with nods, and know
that you and I can simply say,
“I want you!” though our lips won’t show.


Author's Note: This is a  poem without the letter “e."

Martin Elster, who never misses a beat, was for many years a percussionist with the Hartford Symphony Orchestra. His career in music has influenced his fondness for writing metrical verse, which has appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies in the US and abroad. A full-length collection Celestial Euphony was published by Plum White Press in 2019.