I sit hidden
in paper thin concrete walls
when I hear your windy footsteps.

You gently nudge
the old, yellowed curtain
to its side
and I catch a glimpse of you.

I try to hide myself
in the faceless crowd
of cement-brick rooftops
and hope that you forget to remember. 

I even close my eyes
and pretend to sleep
but deep down inside
I know you're not fooled.

It's so easy
so very easy
for you to blow away my house of straw
and lay bare my raw, childish heart
in all its vulnerability.  
But you don't.

You pass over uneventfully
in rain drop silence
with just a gentle rumble
to let me know
you had stopped by
to say hello.


Author Bio:
No matter what she does as her day job, Shubhangi is a passionate poet, guitarist and singer-songwriter. An economics graduate with an MBA in Marketing, she has nurtured her poetry throughout her adolescence into adulthood. Her poems deal with various themes, ranging from nature, love, and the experience of being a woman in Indian society.

She is the most beautiful girl in school. I have spoken to her a few times, and it's obvious she is kind. She is too good for him.

He is waiting by her locker, which is across the hall from my own. He's short and chunky, and his face looks scrunched up, like a used tissue. Sometimes I hear him try to sing to her. She's too sweet to tell him how off-key he is. Yet it's him who always has his arm around her shoulders. It's him who gets to lean in and kiss her cheek.

He is yelling again. She never yells back, she just speaks quietly until he calms. He doesn't deserve her patience. I close my locker and look over. His face is beet red and spit flies out of his mouth as he shouts. She wipes it off her face and takes a step towards him, and he pushes her. She stumbles against the lockers. I can't allow this.

I stomp over, and shove him. He tumbles to the floor, expression bewildered. He starts to cry. Pathetic.

I turn to her. She looks angry. It doesn’t make sense. I saved her, she should be grateful.

“You don't have to put up with his abuse,” I tell her, “You deserve a better boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?!” she exclaims, “He's my brother- my mentally disabled brother. Maybe you should get a goddamn clue what's going on before shoving people around, you idiot.”


Author Bio:
S. Arawn Lynden is the pen-name of a Toronto woman with a passion for the written word. Having first sat down at a typewriter at the age of four, she fell hopelessly in love at first write. Currently involved with several short stories, she aspires to work her way up to novels. Typically a fantasy or science fiction writer, she's known to dabble across all genres. She has yet to meet an idea she doesn't like. Drawing from an eclectic set of life experiences including adoption and reunion, taking a stand for equality, and three near-death experiences; S. Arawn Lynden prefers to look at things from a different perspective. She hopes that through her work, she can help others take a fresh look at life.

Leave your socks on throw your clothes off
Hop back in! Fifteen minutes ought to do us
Kiss and giggle we like the feeling
Of getting away with something
Old fatties in our black socks
Pool of sunlight roll right into it
Keep it quiet! The kids are down the hall.


Author Bio:
Melissa Knox writes and teaches in Germany, and has an essay forthcoming in Brain, Child.