biovignette

carissa

The girl sitting next to me on the subway had the whimsically short cut I had admired since realizing, at the age of twelve, the unreachability of Disney princess hair, and she seemed past the point of defending it. Her corduroy jacket looked refashioned from an old carpet bag, and when asked, she said that she worked in “textiles.” She looked the sort of artist who would never claim to be one. She looked like my long-lost friend. Continue reading

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biovignette

simran

She moves as if suspended in fluid. Clicking, unclicking the seatbelt. Drawing the mask cords near, not over, her gleaming black braid. Waving at exits. Looking abandoned in the open water of thought, with no means to signal. Or in no hurry to. Continue reading

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