On my way home, I ask the sky to come down and keep me company
I am learning to birth pearls from a dull knife.
I have never seen you with black hair. I will never see you again.
you lean into me as if to complete the fragment in/ my mouth.
Our clocks simply don’t chime the same tune
Ammā is perched on the doormat, / greasing her heels with Tiger Balm Red.
Meanwhile, I relinquish my authority on feeling. / Meanwhile, love is making its way to me.
The climate is changing. Should our cultural recipes change too?
An open call for journalism on Asian immigrant and Muslim communities
Song Từ Thức vốn tính hay rượu, thích đàn, ham thơ, mến cảnh. |
His passions: music, poetry, and beautiful landscapes.
time / slips off my softened skin / and I grow wings.
I am learning to birth pearls from a dull knife.
The climate is changing. Should our cultural recipes change too?
I have never seen you with black hair. I will never see you again.
An open call for journalism on Asian immigrant and Muslim communities
you lean into me as if to complete the fragment in/ my mouth.
Our clocks simply don’t chime the same tune
Song Từ Thức vốn tính hay rượu, thích đàn, ham thơ, mến cảnh. |
His passions: music, poetry, and beautiful landscapes.
Ammā is perched on the doormat, / greasing her heels with Tiger Balm Red.
Meanwhile, I relinquish my authority on feeling. / Meanwhile, love is making its way to me.
time / slips off my softened skin / and I grow wings.