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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 9, Number 2, June 2015


Paresh Tiwari
Mumbai, Maharashtra, India


When I was young, mom taught me how to make paper collages. We would take glossy magazines and newspapers and tear out small bits of paper from the pictures that I found interesting. These pieces range widely in colour, texture, thickness and feel. Sometimes, the hand-torn piece is part of a great leader’s wrinkled hand, at others, the vibrant green of a rainforest or the smooth glow of tanned skin from a scantily clad model’s cheek.

We would then stick these together on chart paper to make a different picture. It was a patient enterprise and a small collage often had thousands of paper pieces stuck together in the mosaic of a new creation.

Today, I wonder, if we are anything but a ghost of our memories; a careful sampling of the people and situations that linger within us. I wonder, if someday when my son looks closely at my skin, or hair, or eyes, would he find tiny bits of all those who have ever touched my life . . . one edge rough and scabbed, as if torn away callously by hand?

brackish water—
I show her the fractals
of a heartbreak



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