I had vowed to be different, but I wasn’t able to escape servitude, even eight thousand miles away in New York.

By Rachana Pathak
Essays    Reportage    Marginalia    Interviews    Poetry    Fiction    Videos    Everything   
Poetry

An image is a seizure of likeness

Poetry

Imagine that, an America with no hills.

Poetry

Instead of sorries, offers of ice cream
swirl between our barely open doors.

Poetry

Like a snake smelling your wrist when you bend
to pick a toad lily

Poetry

Only light moves fast enough for me.

Essays

I have never met anyone who looked like me.

Poetry

I walk back into the city, which wraps round me like velvet trimmed with stars.

Poetry

A zuihitsu

Poetry

Oh, my windowsill garden: bloom!

Essays

Each wave, larger than the one before.

Poetry

After immigration interviews on Angel Island

Poetry

I exhale & I let go of a jagged myth, // a small blade.

Poetry

We were two sides of the same glass

Poetry

If I stay shut, I’m just my pair of eyes.

Poetry

I will be bird to your wire.

Essays

I’m learning, each day, what it may mean to live.

Poetry

what if this is not about blood at all?

Poetry

“domestic bliss” and “it brings a tomorrow feeling”

Essays

Twenty-one writers interpret the genre

Poetry

Flooded with bright orange and yellow the painting completes itself.

Poetry

An image is a seizure of likeness

Poetry

After immigration interviews on Angel Island

Poetry

Imagine that, an America with no hills.

Poetry

I exhale & I let go of a jagged myth, // a small blade.

Poetry

Instead of sorries, offers of ice cream
swirl between our barely open doors.

Poetry

We were two sides of the same glass

Poetry

Like a snake smelling your wrist when you bend
to pick a toad lily

Poetry

If I stay shut, I’m just my pair of eyes.

Poetry

Only light moves fast enough for me.

Poetry

I will be bird to your wire.

Essays

I have never met anyone who looked like me.

Essays

I’m learning, each day, what it may mean to live.

Poetry

I walk back into the city, which wraps round me like velvet trimmed with stars.

Poetry

what if this is not about blood at all?

Poetry

A zuihitsu

Poetry

“domestic bliss” and “it brings a tomorrow feeling”

Poetry

Oh, my windowsill garden: bloom!

Essays

Twenty-one writers interpret the genre

Essays

Each wave, larger than the one before.

Poetry

Flooded with bright orange and yellow the painting completes itself.