The buds of a mogra are small pearls,like closed fists hiding a child’s treasure.Unopened, they hold promise, the comingof a future — lovely, fragrant, ephemeral —a cloud-hued comet in the palm of God’s hands; quietly safekeeping secretsI confessed to the Earth, promises I made to myself, swinging in the wind, anticipatingthe rains, leaving my hair scented whenI... Continue Reading →