SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES
SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES
A bride and groom walk from the altar into a world filled with zombies…
A mother gives birth to a stomach, and it’s hungry….
A daughter searches for her lost mother tongue...
A father buries the body of his own father, over and over, only to watch him rise again…
On October 30, the eve of Halloween, when the veil between worlds is thinnest, step into writing that takes love and language beyond the border of empire and the border of life and death.
step into…
M E N A C E
I S S U E T W O
…a sneak preview ft. poetry by Aparna Paul
ISSUE TWO PREVIEW
ISSUE TWO PREVIEW
“…when a language dies
the last words to go are the colors
when the lady on the bus tells me
she doesn’t see color does she know
she is killing something between us?”
“native speaker” by Aparna Paul
NATIVE SPEAKER
poetry by Aparna Paul
this language is laal.
no this language is chomona.
no this language is red.
red red bloody mouth. all
dying languages made prey
caught in the teeth. a prayer
before my lips could make
a sound. this language is red
as the tongue fleshy frightened
feeble the only muscle i know
how to flex & it can’t carry
a damn thing except all this
history. when a language dies
the last words to go are the colors
when the lady on the bus tells me
she doesn’t see color does she know
she is killing something between us? this language
is red laal chomona this language is red as
lineage: my mother’s worry / my father’s patience
the words that can’t describe either but we still
try. this language is dead like every day we destroy
it & make it something new this language
is red like the fire in which
it burned this language is red as rebirth
this language is spoken
it is not read
i am standing in the kitchen
with six native speakers
of gujarati & i find
none of them know
how to read & write the language
it doesn’t exist anywhere in this home
except between our laughter &
behind our teeth
“…lose your grip on the cake. lose a whole cake. lose your appetite when you look at the cake on the floor. lose your grip on the situation. lose control. control is overrated. lose your voice, again. lose your cool. lose your breath. lose it, and go outside to breathe in deep. lose the angry red air from your lungs. lose your lungs. lose your body. remember your body. you can only remember something once it’s lost.”
“EVERYONE LOVES A PARTY” by Aparna Paul
EVERYONE LOVES A PARTY
poetry by Aparna Paul
—after John Murillo
lose everything. lose your closest friendships while trying to plan a party. lose your sense of self in the Costco bakery section. lose your car in the Party City parking lot. lose an entire afternoon in traffic. lose your way home; but remember: we only feel homesick when we’re gone. remember: you didn’t know what home felt like until you left. remember: you lost your mom in the parking lot. you lost your voice yelling her name. you lost your innocence when you found out your mom’s name isn’t Mom. you lost it again when you find out she never wanted to be called Mom, she wanted to be called Mummy, which is what she calls her mom. in the end everyone calls for their mother. lose your whole history in a single syllable. lose your cool. lose it, i’m serious. cool is overrated. lose an enemy and invite them to the party instead. lose out on every other party happening on Saturday night. lose track of how many shots you had; have another. lose track of how many shots you had; have another. lose track—————————. lose a whole hour of your life and ply your friends in the morning to give it back. they will remember, and you will think you do, too. will remember the outlines of it even as you lose trust in the details. lose your ex’s number, why do you even have that. lose your keys. lose your breath on the dance floor. lose your way back to the kitchen. did you lose your keys? it doesn’t matter, it’s your house. lose your grip on the cake. lose a whole cake. lose your appetite when you look at the cake on the floor. lose your grip on the situation. lose control. control is overrated. lose your voice, again. lose your cool. lose your breath. lose it, and go outside to breathe in deep. lose the angry red air from your lungs. lose your lungs. lose your body. remember your body. you can only remember something once it’s lost. you can only lose something once it’s remembered, fuzzy outline but no trust. lose the details. lose the outline. lose your way back in; where the fuck are your keys; there’s no one left at the party. lose yourself in the night sky, in the way your
breath steams in the dark, every loss
inside of you
trying to get found
out.
“…when i worry about my beloveds
it’s because love & loss are two sides
of the same coin. you can’t have one
without the other. you can’t have an ending
without the beginning—”
“language immersion” by Aparna Paul
LANGUAGE IMMERSION
poetry by Aparna Paul
no i’m not the most anxious woman alive because my mom hasn’t died yet
her native language is worrying and she taught it to me well
when i consider mother tongue
i don’t think of gujarati ancestral dialect my mom didn’t pass on but
rather what did you have for dinner or
i missed your call is everything okay or
have you been using that foot cream i gave you
when i remember her voice
it’s the colonizer’s tongue
but it’s all her fury her joy her wonder her worry
when she sings in the kitchen
she hums she murmurs she croons
there are no words here
when i worry about my beloveds
it’s because love & loss are two sides
of the same coin. you can’t have one
without the other. you can’t have an ending
without the beginning—
when my mom asks me why
all my poems are about her dying
i don’t have a good answer which is
maybe yet another reason i’m killing her slowly
when i confess to her my fear
that when she ages she will forget
english and speak solely in gujarati,
she tells me oh yeah, that could happen
there is no way to talk about life without talking about death
there is no way for me to talk without her
& all the words she gave me
& all the worry she gave me
there is no language that reaches
past that future through that grief
there is no way for me to talk about my life without talking about my mother’s
she brought me into this world
only she can take me out
everyone else can try their damnedest but
i won’t die until she does
& even then, her life in mine
her heart in my chest
her voice in my head
singing in this home
keeping the silence at bay
Aparna Paul (she/her) is a writer, chemical engineer, banana bread enthusiast, & amateur crossword constructor based in Cambridge, MA. Her poetry & prose has been recognized by Reckoning, DMQ Review, & Gaining Ground, among others. She edited the anthology Reflections of The Land (Literary Cleveland, 2022) and is a co-editor of GOOD SOUP, now on hiatus (@goodsoup.mag on Instagram). She performs regularly, hosts occasionally, and slams sometimes at the Boston Poetry Slam at the Cantab Lounge. HOME FREE (Game Over Books, 2025) is her debut full-length poetry collection.
