Dayenu By J. C. Pucci


And then we realized
their memories were not blessings
but the ancient curse:
and you shall multiply
like the stars in heaven
and the sands on the earth,
shunned and stepped upon
How Avraham had misheard:
the hope of otherwise had covered
his ears.

This was how we met the end:
without undue rush or pride
a song of ascents, we went on crooning
in the very moment when we could be no lower.

Some spoke of simple things —
ineffable and complete
like the strength of wanderers
and poets. Others
mouthed wordless fears of
immortality undone.

Mere existence was our battle cry,
short and sweet little lives
like spots of honey we sat
observing everything, acting mostly
and in this way
we went on counting stars as if of shared fate
of some perpetual life.

That we would burn away, too
like the stars in heaven
that we would be swept away, also
like the sands of the earth
this we ignored in tremendous oblivion.

And then we realized
their memories were not blessings
but not quite a curse
and so we pretended that the stars would go on forever
and the sands would be a constant on earth
and that this world was mutable
and it was more mutable than us.
and this became our blessing
and for a moment, at least,
it was enough.

By J. C. Pucci


J. C. Pucci is a poet, teacher, musician, and accomplished daydreamer. She received her Ph.D. in Italian language & literature from Yale University where she also teaches Italian translation.

Entry/Exit By Megha Sood


Pain unable to hide between its own shadows, where the grief goes to hide.
Shuddering ripples cleaving the body in half like a painful carving.

Shreds of pain hiding like crumbs between the covers. Language chiseled like
the hunters’ knife on the naked skin of the wild oak donning a false sense of ownership.

Your breath on my skin spits and marks its boundaries. Your words carve out
the burnished wounds. The bourgeois display of pain splayed for the whole world.

To whom this body belongs? Suffering is nameless. Carved out of the tongues of those
who abused us. Misunderstood and mispronounced like a foreign language.

A penny tightly clutched in the soft palms leaves impressions.
An uprooted oak falls silently in the naked woods.

A lot has entered and exit through this body leaving behind the remnant of painful
memories carving its names. A litany of boisterous acclaim.

My scorched skin covered with suppurating welts and blisters.
Skin begging for sustenance. Sometimes, even the scorched earth goes green.

I wait patiently for the rain to come. Earth trowled over and remains fertile.
Nature teaches me resilience. The parched body craves the sustenance of the monsoon rains.

Sometimes body forgets its own memories, living and breathing through the pain.
Forgetting its own entry and exit. Succumbed to life living trapped shut. 

By Megha Sood


Megha Sood is an Assistant Poetry Editor for the Literary Journal MookyChick and a Literary Partner with the “Life in Quarantine” Stanford University, USA. Her works are widely published in literary journals and anthologies including Better than Starbucks, Gothamist, Poetry Society of New York, Madras Courier, Borderless Journal, WNYC Studios, Kissing Dynamite, American Writers Review, FIVE:2: ONE, Quail Bell, Dime show review, etc. Three-time State-level Winner NAMI Dara Axelrod NJ Poetry Contest 2018/2019/2020 and First Place National Winner Spring Robinson Lit Prize 2020, Finalist in Pangolin Poetry Prize 2019, Adelaide Literary Award 2019 and Erbacce Prize 2020, Nominated for the iWomanGlobalAwrads 2020 and many more. Works selected numerous times by Jersey City Writers group and Department of Cultural Affairs for the Arts House Festival. Editor of ( “The Medusa Project, Mookychick) and ( “The Kali Project,” Indie Blu(e) Press). Chosen twice as the panelist for the Jersey City Theater Center Online Series “Voices Around the World”.She blogs at and tweets at @meghasood16.

this autumn By Kashiana Singh

this autumn

a garnet pendant
gazes over corn stalks –
an approaching fall

autumnal equinox –
I bring out my journal
and erase old hurts

leaf season –
hunched afternoons
spent in devotion

By Kashiana Singh


Kashiana Singh lives in Chicago and embodies her TEDx talk theme of Work as Worship into her everyday. Her poetry collection, Shelling Peanuts and Stringing Words presents her voice as a participant and an observer. Her chapbook Crushed Anthills is a journey through 10 cities – a complex maze of remembrances to unravel. Her poems have been published on various platforms including Poets Reading the News, Visual Verse, Oddball Magazine, Café Dissensus, TurnPike Magazine, Inverse Journal. She serves as an Assistant Poetry Editor for Poets Reading the News. Kashiana carries her various geographical homes within her poetry.