after Nayna Minda I remember our little kitchen above the pub. The tiny window of light, a small set of table and chairs and orange tablemats. I always imagine it in the afterschool golden hour between five and six on a summer eve. And you cut an apple for me. Slice the knife through and … Continue reading Cut apples
I play hide and seek with myself: concealed behind bed sheets, curtains and the lines drawn in childish crayon across my face. I giggle in the darkness then trace the oyster edges of my bones in the mirror - whisper “I am still here.” Here, despite the fact you rest your head against my back … Continue reading Object Permanence
Long time followers know that at the beginning of each new year, I write a post reflecting on the year which has passed. Age 26 is weeks later than usual. This has been the hardest one to write. It saw many drafts but in the end I took a creative escape route - I attempted … Continue reading Age 26
First published on Emotional Alchemy Magazine. Thoughts pervade, on par with cymbal clatters and the dishes you’ve left for too many nights and the potato starch has attached itself, limb by limb, to the pan. One dream circles, once and round again. In the middle of a day - a daydream noon - I find … Continue reading Alice in the bath
This week on My Screaming Twenties celebrates the release of Devika Mathur's collection of poetry and prose, Crimson Skins. Devika Mathur is loved and known for her celebration of the abstract and surreal; she plays with words like toys and bites into them like ripe fruit. Everything Mathur yields is original and unique. Even when … Continue reading Advance Review of Crimson Skins, Devika Mathur
This week on My Screaming Twenties celebrates the release of Devika Mathur's collection of poetry and prose, Crimson Skins. KRISTIANA: Crimson Skins is your second poetry collection, what has been the most rewarding part of reaching the point of publication? DEVIKA: Over the years I have grown into a more persistent writer honing my … Continue reading Interview with Devika Mathur
You were loud. Hovering vertically at my window. Demanding rather than asking to be let in. You did not wait; assumed if you made enough noise the glass would break, yield itself to your stripes and void-like eyes. You did not wait. You did not knock. There was nothing kind about your entrance; there was … Continue reading The wasp
The girl next door who plays the piano, begins her music. As her fingertips settle upon the ivories, I allow my mind to wander. Not to far off places at first, just to the end of the garden, stood between two lonesome oaks who, despite one another, always seem sad and companionless this time of … Continue reading Wanderings
By the end, Kenny coughed and spluttered throughout the day. Only when he slept did the gurgling nestled deep in his throat, stop. I knew it was the end - I'd known so for months. It didn't make the goodbye any easier; leaving him there alone, imagining the high-pitched squeal of metal on metal. The … Continue reading Kenny
I remember being pocket sized and five, taking violent delight in the teacups at the fair, the chipped pastels merging with the beach huts lining the shore. The fair was held behind their stoic line, the faraway homes who betook wind and rain with a smile, and I always wondered if the goldfish bobbing in … Continue reading Five, at the fair
