by Kayleigh Jayshree | Jan 31, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
Father wound My sister’s father wound is the flush cut on the bark where she lost her foothold and fell, the trunk burning red between her thighs all the way down the tree to the ground. It happened in the fatherland where the sky is a rock of shale grey covered with...
by Kayleigh Jayshree | Jan 30, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
Waiting Room, Ward 5b Half five. The sky thickens to darkness through the grime on the tall windows, the claw marks of rain. Someone whistles in the corridor. The drinks machine hums ceaselessly. The TV bracket is an empty gibbet, a bookcase has only a...
by Kayleigh Jayshree | Jan 29, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
Cell Division Something is pulling at my T-shirt. Something is holding my hand. I can feel it walking beside me. It almost trips me up as its steps cross over with mine. Parked cars squeeze us against the hedge. I have to tread carefully holding my bag out at...
by Kayleigh Jayshree | Jan 28, 2024 | Featured, Haibun, Tanka, Haiku & Haiga, Poetry
table for one barely above a whisper … year-end dinner snow crystals on my neighbor’s windows … Foreclosure askew first job interview my shadow on the sunlit snow strawberry stains on the corners of my son’s mouth … his laugh in my...
by Kayleigh Jayshree | Jan 27, 2024 | Word & Image
Hong Kong 22 Years On Her body is terrified, phrased in the shape that dodges a baton the beatings that are bruising a generation, turning away from the impact of the politics of rubber bullets—you’ll say when I say and there’s no getting away from the...
