April 2, 2024

Once in our home in Agra, the monsoon was over

By Tara Isabel Zambrano

and there was no water or power for a day so we waited forever—our mouths lusting to speak half-truths about making out and going braless in the back seats of the cars and when that could not distract us, we ran to the open terrace, sucking lollipops and since there wasn’t a soul outside in the heat, we took off our PJs, and became the afternoon—our earlobes and neck, our limbs and nails turning pink from the syringe of the sun, asphalt gritting our feet, downstairs our mothers calling our names circled red with curses <slurp> we stuck our technicolor tongues out in the direction of the Taj Mahal that made everyone believe that men could become immortal by mourning their young wives, and call it devotion—well, no one had ever been more intimate with us than the tangerine light that flushed and freckled our faces and rubbed stars on our backs every night—so yeah, in the ocean of heat—white as the mausoleum’s marble—we shimmered like mermaids, moving haphazardly as if our bodies would break free and never, never be like our mothers’ when they slept next to our fathers, cold and lonesome, their hands folded on their bellies, yearning to feel something other than their skin holding the promise of unattainable forever—like queens in their dark graves.

About the Author

Tara Isabel ZambranoTara Isabel Zambrano is a South Asian writer and the author of a short-story collection, “Ruined a Little When We are Born” by DZANC Books in Fall 2024. Her work has appeared in Tin House Online, The Southampton Review, The Rumpus, Electric Literature and other venues.

Related Flash
close up of woman breasts in red bra

Aunt Sadie Holds Forth on “Boy Trouble” After You Tell Her Jimmy Wouldn’t Stop Staring at Your Boobs in Chemistry Class

By Kathryn Silver-Hajo

“When some boy snaps your bra strap or comments on your figure, brush it off like a fly tickling your eye. Laugh, even go hobnob with your girlfriends. Teasing just means they like you.”
white wooden door on brown wooden parquet floor

When You Were Still Too Young for School

By Luanne Castle

“And though you were hungry for him to change his mind, he didn’t because he never did. At the door, when he set down his attaché case to hug you goodbye, you cried out, “Daddy, ants!” And still he raised his briefcase and walked out that door.”

Japanese Lantern

A Growing Collection of Oddities

By Meg Pokrass

At the Japanese lantern festival, the Spinster and I hip-bump in, psyched about whatever people think of us, two zaps of purple in life’s crazy shuffle, licking wasabi from our lips, ignoring each other’s hair, unpedicured or manicured, candid about our hard-earned frumpiness.

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This