Comments Posted By Neelvar
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she rode the scooter to class every morning wearing her ironed sun red salwar kameez with ivory embroidery. past chai wallas and pyaaj wallas competing with the birds to awaken the galli from their winter slumber. it was, indeed, the first day of spring. well, she didn’t know if it was technically the first day of spring, but she sensed it in her blood, something quickening in the air, something that had been lodged in the sky beginning to leak, the light in the morning not so meek anymore but instead full throated.
» Posted By neelvar On 05.06.2016 @ 11:22 pm
Tea spills over my skin and stain my fingernails tea Amber that encases my grandmothers patience. Ginger cardamom honey milk sugar tea. simmer froth gulp tea. Parle g haldiram jeera biscuit India west tea. chasing winter sunbeams across the carpet tea
» Posted By Neelvar On 01.18.2015 @ 3:47 am
Pistachio shells make great thimbles, Grandmaw says. I tell her to speak for herself – we don’t all got fingers the shape of crisply-sharpened number 2 pencils.
» Posted By Neelvar On 06.20.2013 @ 1:24 am
Delving into the depths of his soul, she found a pair of never-worn gym shoes from the 6th grade, signed by every classmate, then wrapped in a bright pink bow. That was his great pain. Maybe loving is not understanding and being okay with that.
» Posted By Neelvar On 05.27.2013 @ 6:19 pm
I spilled the lemonade all over my new blue dress. Puppy jumped into my lap and starting licking my knees with his sticky tongue. Mama got real mad cause Auntie Mandy sewed the dress all special for my birthday and I was supposed to wear the dress to the barbecue so she could see me wear it. Mama said you’re seven years old now Hannah, stop being a dumb klutz, no one likes one mama said. I guess she’s right cause even Puppy wont come to me unless I get food all over myself.
» Posted By Neelvar On 05.25.2013 @ 3:50 pm
Mamta’s clasped hands quivered with a thousand little prayers for her daughters, for her ailing mother, for the tomato crops, for her upcoming mammogram, for the fundraiser, for absolution, for understanding.
» Posted By Neelvar On 04.27.2013 @ 11:34 pm
The sun electrocuted me on that first, trembling spring day. Such a sudden dose of vitamin D after months of the cloud canopy that is Oregon stirred my bones.
» Posted By Neelvar On 04.26.2013 @ 3:16 pm
Attracted to the warm, magnetic wind of an evening in the deepest lull of summer, I followed the breeze to the stars.
» Posted By Neelvar On 04.14.2013 @ 1:21 am
His fingers were like knotted, sprawling branches, the earth spinning on the spoke of his vulture-eaten fingernail.
» Posted By Neelvar On 04.12.2013 @ 11:57 pm
Sentenced to two months in the San Joaquin County prison for trespassing into to the Macy’s women’s department at 3:00 AM on a school night, Principal Montpierre found the newly remodeled facility, with its neon-colored walls and ubiquitous Apple TV screens, a nice change of scenery from the narrow, dimly lit halls of East Diablo Middle School. During the days Montpierre would watch reruns of painting specials and infant kitsch. And at night he’d dream of a swelte, faceless Macy’s mannequin just inches from his reach. He’d dream of the Southwestern landscapes he’d paint on her pitch-blank visage.
» Posted By Neelvar On 02.28.2013 @ 1:57 pm
Leathery hands, soulful face. That’s how I remember my Grandma. We’d ride horses in the plains behind the supermarket, the little patch of country left in a city plagued by ever-encroaching suburbia.
» Posted By Neelvar On 02.21.2013 @ 5:26 pm
Think of all the places you’ve been, all the smells you’ve felt, all the colors you’ve drowned in. Think of the way the sun fell on your neck, think of the way the lavender-scented fields welled up in your throat. But most importantly, don’t think about any of it at all. Let your memory swell and recede as do the tides of the ocean, and don’t be sad when one day you can hardly remember what you did that day. Because you will remember how you felt.
» Posted By Neelvar On 02.05.2013 @ 2:10 pm
The broom-stick I sweep with has a handle that gives me splinters. The air is humid and cool at once. Mama brings cold orange cocktails out to the deck, her face apologetic as she glances at me brushing away the broken wine glasses.
» Posted By Neelvar On 01.16.2013 @ 11:55 pm
We shoved a barrel of snow into the back of the geriatric minivan, perfect with fine Italian syrups and soda water.
» Posted By Neelvar On 01.01.2013 @ 10:58 pm
Officers from every country gathered at the Antarctic summit to anoint the country’s first Chief Minister. A dry breeze whipped our faces as we turned to honor our Inuit leader.
» Posted By Neelvar On 12.30.2012 @ 1:49 am
Now – this slippery translucent moment, cold and writhing in my hands, gasping. I am blind in this ocean world.
» Posted By Neelvar On 12.26.2012 @ 8:17 pm
Stirring my tea with Grandmother’s bone china spoon, I wait for the clock to strike twelve. The bellowing sound will scatter the birds and rustle the leaves. I will, at that hour, as I do every Sunday after tea, take my leave.
» Posted By Neelvar On 12.15.2012 @ 10:23 pm
Our plum tree waits, its colorless limbs in repose for fifty-one fruitless weeks every year. As her neighbors swoon with flowers in May and ignite fiery hues in October, our plum tree dresses plainly, not even flinching under the March barricade of rain. She gazes at the quiet cul-de-sac until that elusive late-August evening when she comes alive amongst the night-blooming jasmine. The air is warm and thick with her scent. Rushing to catch her windfall before the squirrels do, we gather the plums in laundry baskets and retreat to the cool, tile-floor kitchen. The plums taste like patience.
» Posted By Neelvar On 12.13.2012 @ 8:30 pm
Presented with an honorary degree from the university whose only previous contact was a generic rejection letter thirty years ago, Sejek was, one could say, a bit confused.
» Posted By Neelvar On 12.10.2012 @ 5:31 pm
Broadcast this life live, our fingerprints smudged lasciviously on a billion blue-tinted screens, our breath fogging up the glass.
» Posted By Neelvar On 12.09.2012 @ 12:18 am
I sat on the mossy wood-paneled roof, draped in a maroon
blanket, sipping hot cocoa. The streets were slick with
jewel-colored Christmas lights. If I slipped, I’d surely die, or at
least break every last bone.
» Posted By Neelvar On 12.07.2012 @ 12:33 am
Being as we would be, too aware of
each other’s awareness of one
Both, fumbling, hands muttering
A dance of none.
» Posted By Neelvar On 12.03.2012 @ 1:54 pm
rise to the top of the coffee cup the cream of the crop with a bit of cinnamon and sweet little promises to meet again and rise with the tide of the morning’s call and the paper boy as the blue dawn shivers and we watch the news and we get the blues we rise once more and drink from the coffee cup.
» Posted By Neelvar On 11.29.2012 @ 11:58 pm
He satisfied but he did not satiate by desires. He colored in the lines between my mouth, careful not to spill. My palate was not disappointed but my bones were.
» Posted By Neelvar On 11.20.2012 @ 12:59 am
With every mentions of the Heavenly Father, your soliloquy grows brighter a wildfire on a hillside, your speech blazes as you stand on the street corner waxing poetic of end times as the men with tired faces ask for my spare change.
» Posted By Neelvar On 11.18.2012 @ 3:00 pm
The employees were tired. The grueling scheduling churned them from one floor to another and by the time the evening was setting they had collapsed by the aisle of porcelain dolls.
» Posted By Neelvar On 11.15.2012 @ 10:57 pm
Arts was always her favorite subject in elementary school. Color plucked at her soulstrings like nothing else and transported her to a million different places on an easel.
» Posted By Neelvar On 11.14.2012 @ 12:26 am
Draw upon my skin the inky path of your descent, o Sun shrouded by winter. So pale, so colorless and so faint is your shine this evening, and the geese draw upon the sky their map to a place where you are still bright.
» Posted By Neelvar On 11.11.2012 @ 1:17 pm
The presence of the ocean so massive and smiling was enough to melt her little tears. Her very favorite umbrella flew away, the wind thrusting it from her grasp. Grand-pere chased it in the ocean, running among the bizzare limbless statues of Saint Flavie, his wiry frame flailing puppet-like, but no to avail. Marie’s umbrella was gone. But its presence was not.
» Posted By Neelvar On 11.01.2012 @ 12:30 am
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The way he carried himself was deliberate, full of meaning, like an ancient Greek councilman, his gait unfettered by the crushing gray tide of modern ennui all about him. Indeed, his stride seemed as primeval as the earth upon which he tread. And when he stopped walking to gaze at the swelling trees above, his bones had all the marble promise of David.
» Posted By Neelvar On 02.09.2013 @ 9:37 pm