Amen
Amen tastes like church cookies: crumbly, stale, hauled out of cardboard boxes, old man’s fingers with popping blue veins beat her to the chocolate ones. She is always surprised when she remembers Sundays in this golden haze, edged in maroon, the smell of mahogany – She breaks off the memory li
China and Clay
It was the morning of Christmas Eve – never a big deal in their part of Calcutta – when Putul came in with her mother in a hand-me-down jumper. The Mistress of the Mansion was awake, sweeping the dead leaves in the garden towards the southern wall. She never truly honoured her title, which irked
Narcissism as Feminist Virtue
Sally: Ok, before you start, you might want to work on that title. I just feel like the ‘selfie as empowering feminist tool’ has been done to death — Polly: — with that picture of the statue taking a selfie, yeah. Although that’s not exactly what the piece is about… Can I just read y
