Notes from a Vanity Van
I imagined a golden ray from the sun struck interiors
of the vehicle I rehearsed dialogues in while dark
shadows outlined reflections cast. A tinge of subtle
eye-shadow was smeared and rubbed, to underline
the rooms of conscience. Halfway through, brief
scriptures over the face of a lake summoned: it was
the moment to weep insanely, with thorough use of
propylene glycol. I laughed before drowsiness sunk
into figments of dust pores, visible through sunbeams.
The people — were talking and talking, hollowly, and
I retired into the little wood. I sat nearby at the foot of
a small hill, my white costume in speckles of damp soil.
A little dandelion I watched, disperse its wings as I looked
at my wrists — waited for a touch, and a gentle raindrop fell.
Sneha Subramanian Kanta straddles paths from linear and discursive lines. Ghettos, immigrants, nations, untold refugee tales, the manufacturing of otherness and writing from the margins are some subject matters of resonance. Her work is forthcoming in Fallujah Magazine, EPIZOOTICS, Erstwhile Magazine, Sahitya Akademi, Noble/ Gas Qtrly, Epigraph Magazine and the first print anthology of Peacock Journal. She is a GREAT scholarship awardee pursuing her second postgraduate degree in literature in the United Kingdom. Write to her on email@example.com