poetry

Tainted Margins I

Saudamini Deo

Years ago, a woman stood in front of me and read out Manto. Siyah Hashiye shouldn’t be translated as Black Borders, she said. Tainted Margins. Another woman, years later, looked plainly at me and asked if people still slept on…

Leftment

Matt Jones

QuoVadis met the light at seventeen after rolling his truck into a drainage ditch. Shards of teeth and chipped glass scattered around him, all soaking up the same amount of light. The pull of beer through his veins and leak…

AI Winter

Sridala Swami

In these last and terrible days there’s still a kind of perfection in choosing the moment of one’s death. Drona hears your name spoken and detaches himself from his body. From this moment on, he is pure intelligence. You call…

Double Business

Sonya Taaffe

How many of our mirrors are the dead, casting back from the graveside what we practiced on them in life? Guilt gnaws in the ear like henbane, the green ache of a long-knit wound still sullen to the touch as…

Orthography: A Personal History

Sara Norja

[Audio clip: view full post to listen] Lecture #1   Palaeography – the science of the study of handwriting. From the Greek, of course: παλαιόϛ ‘ancient’ + γραφία.   Papyrus, parchment, paper; wood, metal, stone: all marked by human hands…

Hamsa

Sonya Taaffe

I want to give you Lilith of the towpaths, the woman who watches joggers pass in the pearl-wet morning like sand drifting closed against doors, shaking her hair back over her rain-turned collar, calling your black dog to heel. She…