Poetry by Purvi Shah
Burning is ocean shared
Burning is ocean shared
from “The Cow Suit”
Rattlesnake Tamer | Taylor and I | On an Evening in Crown Heights
Praise for the Inner Lining of my Morphing Apparel | Nature knows a little about Slave Trade
Dream Home | Dream Home
The Rebel | Mars
Three Poems
Filmic | Patterning
And from the thousands of words that define us, not a single word has just one paternity. . .
Why cotton?
Because that’s what it feels like. . .
Shifu looks at the stream behind her compound, contaminated from the mines, thin and weak, and still thinks she can drink from it. She says freedom is flight. She says water is life. . .
Maybe Keano’s electroceutical fed the neural concerto of Aanya’s break-up into larger networks of perspective. She couldn’t decide which was better: fixation or detachment?
Even a bookstall harbors the energy of a huge bookshop, books falling off its edges. You and I fell off a bench once. Gravity tricked me into thinking that it was fate, love, us, falling. . .
Every good story starts with a dead mother. Nothing worth doing is possible until she dies.
She stands at the mirror, staring at her reflection for what seems like a long time, waiting to see how quickly the puffiness will go down, learning that the answer is not fast enough. . .