issue one / serendipity
re: parenting
Phoenix Tesni
i want to write poems that are wine-flushed & sunlit;
but there is now a boulder on the way to my heart
where my feelings once found their way out of me. i care
more about the result than my effort these days.
most of the time, i am on a battlefield alone & battered,
unable to see the enemy- just a desert full of mirrors &
mirrors & reflections- and a face i do not recognise.
i do not know where i get my scars from, so i refuse
to tend to them. but i like to think that i try. that
i have always tried- time & time again, through wounds
& scars alike. on most days, it isn’t enough. on some,
i am blind to my own lacerations. so i fall & i fall &
i bash myself for not being able to get up. i want to
stop falling- but first, i need to accept that i am here,
on the ground. someday, my poems will be bright
and mixed with starlight & hope. but today, i will
cradle shame in my hands, and try to put myself to bed.
but there is now a boulder on the way to my heart
where my feelings once found their way out of me. i care
more about the result than my effort these days.
most of the time, i am on a battlefield alone & battered,
unable to see the enemy- just a desert full of mirrors &
mirrors & reflections- and a face i do not recognise.
i do not know where i get my scars from, so i refuse
to tend to them. but i like to think that i try. that
i have always tried- time & time again, through wounds
& scars alike. on most days, it isn’t enough. on some,
i am blind to my own lacerations. so i fall & i fall &
i bash myself for not being able to get up. i want to
stop falling- but first, i need to accept that i am here,
on the ground. someday, my poems will be bright
and mixed with starlight & hope. but today, i will
cradle shame in my hands, and try to put myself to bed.
issue one / serendipity
arrival song
by Phoenix Tesni
eleven pm, there's warm food on the stove.
my kitchen window is fogged up-
on the glass, i see my eyes, overlapping
with a blurry vision of the lights outside.
a study in bokeh and mist.
winter creeps up underneath my feet,
settles in my cat's throat
when he comes to snuggle with me.
i wake up and pull the blanket over myself.
by noon, i hum along to the electric kettle.
take sweaters out of old suitcases.
stretch in the afternoon sun.
wear chapstick more often.
winter knocks on my door, and enters
before i have the time to let it in.
my kitchen window is fogged up-
on the glass, i see my eyes, overlapping
with a blurry vision of the lights outside.
a study in bokeh and mist.
winter creeps up underneath my feet,
settles in my cat's throat
when he comes to snuggle with me.
i wake up and pull the blanket over myself.
by noon, i hum along to the electric kettle.
take sweaters out of old suitcases.
stretch in the afternoon sun.
wear chapstick more often.
winter knocks on my door, and enters
before i have the time to let it in.
Phoenix Tesni (she/her) is a self-proclaimed artist & poet from New Delhi. She’s 22 & likes to practice falling in love with life over and over again. When she’s not creating or consuming media, she is almost always petting a cat. You can find her on Twitter as @PhoenixTesni.