Issue 3.2: Nandini Dhar

Issue No 3.2

An Early History of Hang Gliding by Leslie Maxwell
“The day after her mother died, Evie did not go to school. Tenth grade had just begun, and Evie had spent the last three weeks trying to decide who she would be this year, and now, here, just as suddenly, tenth grade seemed far away from her mind…”

Mirror Look At Me by Laura Tansley
“His side of the bed was cold to the touch. Her door was ajar, the bed boldly made to prove a point: she had not slept, not here at least…”

Meeting Uncle Charlie by Sarah Abbott
“My uncle Charlie drove up in his red sedan, the car in good shape but an older model, and parked to the left of our driveway…”

Three Broken Hearts by Anthony J. Mohr
“It was a Saturday in March 1963. My father and I were having lunch at the Rendezvous Room in the Beverly Hilton Hotel…”

Quotidienne by Nandini Dhar
“Mother is busy wiping off the cumin-dust from the old photographs, book-spines…”

Fog in Michigan by Michael Lauchlan
“The big tire beside the highway, the blue bridge, billboards, and all marks of a flat land vanish…”

The Lave by Michael Lauchlan
“On our wedding night, the noise jars us—thieves boosting our mower….”

Widow Gardening by Grace Mattern
“She digs in the garden, pulls weeds by their roots and leaves them to wilt…”



Mother is busy wiping off the cumin-dust
from the old photographs, book-spines,

the remotest corners in the room. The stories
are slowly slipping away from her palms. Until

she is left with only one. She keeps mixing
salt and sugar and lemon juice

in preordained combinations. Mother keeps
the ceramic milk-cups wrapped in white

embroidered sheets. We are not allowed
to drink out of them. Mother tells us, the past

is something she cannot afford to repair. We
watch the wooden chair she has just dusted

from the children’s corner in the room – an arcade
of termite wings has taken it over.

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