Fatimah Asghar

Dream, love. I am a whittler in this life. We can live anywhere you want: a farm, the stable, a tiny house in a field of silence. The walls will be made of anything but organs. You will never see blood. Dream, love. There are no hospitals this time. Instead, it is your 16th birthday … Read More

My blood, persistent as sugar, the slow spill and collect of grains why my sister says all the mosquitos fill themselves at night. I wake to fresh funeral mounds on my legs my blood dandelions the city which is a field. I pick up all the pieces, trace the bloodline through teashop and darkroom come into the light fingerless, unsure of … Read More