Gas station glow past 3AM, the glassed look of a man who’s been sitting for too long, hot dogs slumbering behind a screen, their skins plump and pink.

By Annesha Mitha
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Poetry

Gas station glow past 3AM, the glassed look of a man who’s been sitting for too long, hot dogs slumbering behind a screen, their skins plump and pink.

Poetry

shall god taste / the sick / bodies also / singing / also breaking

Poetry

we inherited sickly
 / roots our ancestors couldn’t plant / deep enough to
 / grow

Poetry

I stow away the sentences in which there is no you in my drawer right after writing them I remember the time when I emptied the bottom of my drawer for you There I found stuff like a key that became useless forever

Poetry

Love letters spill / down the narrow stairs as I leave. I think I would like nothing / to miss her like I do, hence this tenderness, hence my hands smudging / myself. 


Poetry

One day you’ll be married. May Allah make your naseeb good. May you find a man who prays and follows the deen.

Essays

Creativity, as it turns out, is especially hard when your brain is in survival mode.

Poetry

She does not know if she’s an “opportunist”; this probably means she is an opportunist; She wonders if there is Judgement Day before the revolution; She forces all of her sexual partners to watch The Battle of Algiers.

Poetry

rises, bloodied, and breathing and begins walking as if in hope. / of being heard.

Poetry

a sunburn the shape of the settler dictator’s face on everyone who will claim /
FREE PALESTINE’s earth but not FREE PALESTINE’s skin

Poetry

I’m starting to believe in small magics like / astrology and sudden rain

Poetry

When I look back, I think about all the times Gatorade has let me down in my life.

Poetry

It’s funny how ppl were saying that the peaches in Parasite / were some serious motif & symbolism of prosperity’s toxicity

Poetry

Left home at sixteen, said you wanted to go see the West. Grandpa didn’t stop / you. Figured you might die in some jungle across the Pacific.

Poetry

i love you / too much / let us reason in dissonance / play mozart on mondays / barefoot & / the wisteria i grow wild / the hands i keep sharp—

Poetry

somewhere a tiger loosens its throat or so she imagines / the rubber trees looming she lifts her paring knife to the day’s throat

Poetry

They say / the faithful go to God with the love // of a child, they say the soul sees everything / without eyes. I am trying to understand // my life.

Poetry

Back then I was committed to the color blue, felt moved to paint my walls, nails, furniture the same shade of teal. Now my body swells at the window with casual longing.

Poetry

At birth, my mother recites my ba zi / to a monk, and like all good daughters, // I do not ask. How can a mother / help but lead her daughter // Astray?

Poetry

Gas station glow past 3AM, the glassed look of a man who’s been sitting for too long, hot dogs slumbering behind a screen, their skins plump and pink.

Poetry

I’m starting to believe in small magics like / astrology and sudden rain

Poetry

shall god taste / the sick / bodies also / singing / also breaking

Poetry

When I look back, I think about all the times Gatorade has let me down in my life.

Poetry

we inherited sickly
 / roots our ancestors couldn’t plant / deep enough to
 / grow

Poetry

It’s funny how ppl were saying that the peaches in Parasite / were some serious motif & symbolism of prosperity’s toxicity

Poetry

I stow away the sentences in which there is no you in my drawer right after writing them I remember the time when I emptied the bottom of my drawer for you There I found stuff like a key that became useless forever

Poetry

Left home at sixteen, said you wanted to go see the West. Grandpa didn’t stop / you. Figured you might die in some jungle across the Pacific.

Poetry

Love letters spill / down the narrow stairs as I leave. I think I would like nothing / to miss her like I do, hence this tenderness, hence my hands smudging / myself. 


Poetry

i love you / too much / let us reason in dissonance / play mozart on mondays / barefoot & / the wisteria i grow wild / the hands i keep sharp—

Poetry

One day you’ll be married. May Allah make your naseeb good. May you find a man who prays and follows the deen.

Poetry

somewhere a tiger loosens its throat or so she imagines / the rubber trees looming she lifts her paring knife to the day’s throat

Essays

Creativity, as it turns out, is especially hard when your brain is in survival mode.

Poetry

They say / the faithful go to God with the love // of a child, they say the soul sees everything / without eyes. I am trying to understand // my life.

Poetry

She does not know if she’s an “opportunist”; this probably means she is an opportunist; She wonders if there is Judgement Day before the revolution; She forces all of her sexual partners to watch The Battle of Algiers.

Poetry

Back then I was committed to the color blue, felt moved to paint my walls, nails, furniture the same shade of teal. Now my body swells at the window with casual longing.

Poetry

rises, bloodied, and breathing and begins walking as if in hope. / of being heard.

Poetry

a sunburn the shape of the settler dictator’s face on everyone who will claim /
FREE PALESTINE’s earth but not FREE PALESTINE’s skin

Poetry

At birth, my mother recites my ba zi / to a monk, and like all good daughters, // I do not ask. How can a mother / help but lead her daughter // Astray?