All Posts

By Rishika Tipparti graduate student killed in January 2023 by a speeding Seattle Police officer, who was going 74 mph in a residential area. He later mocked her worth, stating that she had “limited value” and that the city would need to “just write a check” to make up for her untimely killing. For many, this story was just another fleeting headline, quickly buried in the endless scroll of trending topics – if recognized at all. For many Indian Americans like me, however, eve

By Rishika Tipparti You were already dead by the time you noticed. One moment, you were laughing. Your daughter in the passenger seat, cheeks flushed from giggles. She’d just said something – a joke, something about her wedding (your baby was already getting married? How time passes!) – and you’d laughed so hard you had to wipe tears from your eyes at the red light. And then the truck. Metal crumpling like paper. Glass spraying bright as stars. That impossible sound: too loud

By Rishika Tipparti The world seemed to shatter when I heard about Jaahnavi Kandula, a 23-year-old Indian graduate student killed in January 2023 by a speeding Seattle Police officer, who was going 74 mph in a residential area. He later mocked her worth, stating that she had “limited value” and that the city would need to “just write a check” to make up for her untimely killing. For many, this story was just another fleeting headline, quickly buried in the endless scroll of t

By Rishika Tipparti She is the reason why when i look in the mirror i see a dream in progress and Her worst nightmare. the expression i love and spunk i pride are anomalies in what could be the portrait of the – Her – /perfect daughter./ She is the biggest reason i look at the future with hope because i know that / She’ll follow me / wherever i go / so / i’ll hold Her hand / and take Her with me / to see the dreams / She gave away / so i could have mine. i am the /monster/ Sh

By Rishika Tipparti Words. Only twenty six letters In the English language Form over 200,000 words. When I was in 5th grade, I read the dictionary cover to cover, Drinking in word for word, Because the melanin in my skin seemed to scream “ILLITERATE” to the outside world. Because even if I’ve read the dictionary cover to cover reciting spellings and definitions like a devoted lover I’ll still be stupid Because epi-tome is pronounced “epitome.” Because even if I spend hours St

By Rishika Tipparti Studio lights at 5 in the morning Shed light on the surgeon's hands Cutting into skin already leathery and doused in retinol As they try to ignore the smell of hair burning Like the acid of the empty stomach And the taste of bile in the baby-tooth lined walls Of the hollow cheeks' caves. Sunshine at 5 in the morning throws light on bruises Under the eyes, smears of late night scrolling Because you need to plan your diets and craft your next workouts Cut me

By Nix Carlson Force me into the kitchen, order me to knead bread, churn butter. Find rosemary hung from rafters, chicken bones strewn upon the hearth. The broth warmed to feed your swollen bellies – my death sentence. When you bring a meal to your lips,  your skin will boil and bubble,  slough off like onion paper flakes. A good wife submits to her husband. Meets him kneeling on shards of rice, mouth open, eyes lowered.  Praise my tongue by candlelight, now testify – my flue

By Nix Carlson I am harvesting stunted tomatoes / shriveled peppers / and thyme / only this season isn’t romanticized / cottagecore cabins / saphhic euphoria / dancing through violets and sourdough recipes / it is / blistered palms / fruitless self-reliance / meager mutual aid / tending thyme / until the target / locks on me.  I am coordinating my google calendar / flamingo-pink work / metamour game nights / sage-green for dinners with my wife / replace meditations with crash

By Nix Carlson March 8 th   I think I might be an alcoholic. You confessed with fingers wrapped around  A glass of Bacardi. You broke your ribs, one by one, To lay bare your burnt and bloody heart. My fingers lightly traced the scars on your back –  I still haven’t asked for their history. You snapped shut, went outside to smoke. When you returned, you kissed me And I kissed you back As if sustained by the nicotine on your breath.  The next morning, I moved my liquor from the

By Nix Carlson And myself for a beating heart,  An abhorrent sight, All pulsing and oozing flesh. What I am trying to say is that I am defenseless, And I’m not sure if it’s by choice. What I am trying to say is that you are beautiful, Glinting in the sun, raised in defense Of your own heart, beaten in the cage of your ribs, Terrified of the tender thing before you. What I am trying to say is that I am leaving In twenty-nine days, thirteen hours, forty-five minutes, and  Twent

By Nix Carlson And of course it’s covered in thorns, drenched in Bacardi I’m not very lucky, but you already knew that. I’ve never caught the bouquet before and,  Lord knows, I’ll probably never have the chance to throw one. If I do, I hope my careless aim sends it clear across state lines  To your velvet couch where the love of your night sleeps  While you sit on the balcony with a cigarette.  Naturally, you have left me shattered and,  Without fail, I lose my fucking shit o

By Nix Carlson Ciao / take care / see you later / drive safe / make sure you don’t enjoy the cheers when you tap dance tonight / I’m serious / no fun / anyway, I’ll talk to you after /  Wait, what do you mean? / S hit  / You’re serious? / I don’t understand, two months ago you said you love my friendship / yes, I know you don’t remember, blackout drunk spilling the depths of your guts and mind onto the pavement / I know  / but last month you said you loved me  / I know it was

By Nix Carlson September / I asked you to be soft / float gently into mornings steeped in chai and smoke / flannels wrapped around mugs / of cinnamon coffee / reciting books of poetry while suns fold their light into winter / I don’t believe the stars have any say in the minds of lovers / but I etched my horoscope onto my ribs anyway / we all agreed / you’d stay gentle / and I know you are just time / marching around the sun / millennia after millennia / so I can’t blame you

By Nix Carlson I walk through fishbowl vertigo  into a dim-lit dive.  You’re losing billiards   and twenties.  Drunk.  Disheveled.  Coat collar torn,  hair blown into a trend  you aren’t setting.  You see me  and your face cracks blue,  pull me tight for a hug.  The space  where shoulder kisses neck  smells of vetiver  and nicotine,  enough to leave me  riddled with cancer.  Naturally, I inhale,  let you burn my throat. You introduce me,  friend .  I let the label settle. Tra

By Nix Carlson I am not a task to check off.  A calendar notification.  Food to eat the day before it caves  to rotten fuzz.  I am worth more than the voice that thrums  in the back of your mind, the din stilled  by molasses liquor.  I am not a starlit confession,  but the finger-brush silence to follow.  Not skin to temper your lonely ache, lips  to soothe your bleeding brow. I am soft,  yellow blooms under your touch.  I am worth more than the dog you chained  to your dying

By Nix Carlson Black mold in the pipelines to adulthood, oozing into the brains of young men. Boys. As if a boy hadn’t pushed me off the monkey bars at seven. Ms. Lees claimed he liked me. Said a crush was meant literally. As if it was my fate to pour peroxide bubbles over scraped knees. Misogyny is snaking through middle school science classrooms. As if boys didn’t jeer, they were just stronger than us. It’s just science. Chromosomal decree. As if I couldn’t lift more than t

By James Veeds There have been moments in my life where thoughts, feelings, and experiences connect and culminate in something I don’t have a word for. Almost always, I only ever recognise them after they’ve already passed. Thankfully, these wordless culminations that have mostly left me changed for the better. They’re truly spectral things, felt only after moving through them. Or maybe, it’s that I’ve felt them move through me.  That night, as I moved through the hospital, I

By James Veeds Co a ld The cold winter nights never ended for PaulLike the infinite spinning of a record,The music plays.The music of Paul’s lifeA sombre tuneA mellow undercurrentLike the constant flow of water,Between trickling streams And rushing, crushing rapids. He was always afraid of growing older,It didn’t feel right,Like something key was missing A locked door to a lost memory.He did not want to leave behind the nostalgia of childhood, Feeling it was all he’d ever kno

By Hazar Roshan Nobody lives on the fourth floor. Thirteen storeys, five units each, all with four bedrooms. All filled with happy families, I’m sure. Maybe some. Bumbling, beaming, beautiful children, and parents who are proud of the school uniforms they send them out in, every morning. Happy, happy families. Except on the fourth floor. Nobody lives on the fourth floor.  I know this because I’ve never seen someone get off there, my whole life, except Emma. She’s not around a

By Navni Patni i feel my head pounding,  it hurts, it thrums,  with survival instincts on the line.  i feel my hands flickering,  they shiver, they tremble,  as i fight for a last gasping breath.  i feel my ears ringing.  they scream, clouding  every inch of empty expanse with things i can’t hear, things i choose not to,  things they imprint on paper.  things they etch on texts.  things they engrave in crevices in my brain. things they said,  like i wasn’t good enough,  or th