When I open my eyes Aleandro has left, his bed sheet folded. For a moment I’m in Santa Monica. The whirring fan, the garish pink walls seem vaguely familiar. Alcohol settles like a carpet of snow falling softly in my head. On the desk next to your Selected, there’s a note, saying “Thanks” with no … Continue reading
Category Archives: Michelle Cahill
How the Dusk Portions Time
How the Dusk Portions Time Then one evening, after the gallery, hung with invisible abstracts, you take me apart to flesh the miniatures: a fleck of craquelure, speckles of mascara from my shadow eyes, already panda-streaked. I fail to notice how you slip the pieces in your coat pocket. Distracted as I am by wolf … Continue reading
Dying to Meet You
Dying to Meet You for Aravind Adiga Maybe it wasn’t deferred by the hardness of rain, my lack of sincerity, your lover, an unfinished book, a hangover; the cigarettes I didn’t smoke to save my lungs. I wasn’t breathless last night. I dreamt an email I opened from a publisher wishing me well was an … Continue reading
Laksmī under Oath
Laksmī under Oath I left my footprints on the threshold of ancient temples, pointing inwards, like the flow of fortune. In 200 BC, well-intentioned seers fashioned me, etched in bronze on lintels, the gateways to the city. The land was barren, a salt marsh where Indra slayed a three-headed fiend, pole stars drifting and rivers … Continue reading
The Photographer’s Light
The Photographer’s Light All the petals scatter in the folding light. The road before me has its own emissary. Tree branches bow to changed weather, this afternoon they were sunset’s veins. Birds lash the dark, dissolving sky, make a scene of leaving where something like dying is not the reverse of memory. The future’s rank … Continue reading