Taking me in as a Curator of this brave magazine is extremely overwhelming to me.
Thank you Christine.
Sky tripping oranges and bars of star-dust
falling in our frolic skirts.
My sister, I conjured the sustenance of despair and morality
with your apple pie and the almond milk shake.
I churned your spotted skin into my minty breaths
making our bodies glow in the collision of the moon.
I heard mama cry and my cat frowning on the neighbours
when my back was scratched and segmented into tiny fragments.
I remember we did not eat our Dosa or any other fancy dinner for multitudinous days
oh, my sister a week passed by in disconsolate tanned knots of your memory.
And I am still a shivering, paradox of myth.
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