Size / / /

The sky is moon, pushes and pulls the sea
within. Eclipsed by something like desire,
she slips into her red identity,
a basket tucked beneath. She weave-walks, parts
the brambled path towards the forest’s heart,
her steps persistent like a chant. Entranced,
she harvests sweet-sour fruit under the moon’s
regard, and teeth-pierces each orb. The juice
sluices a blood-warm trail. A shameless spillage
or sharp portrayal? Either way, it lures
the wolves from layered lairs. She sees herself
reflected in their umbral eyes—a pack
of little selves. Her only way across:
disrobe in night’s cold maw, and smell each wolf.



Lesh Karan is a former pharmacist turned poet and writer. Her recent publications include Best of Australian Poems 2022, Cordite, Island, Mascara, Overland, and Rabbit. In 2023, she was shortlisted for the Judith Wright Poetry Prize, and she is currently completing a master’s in creative writing. Lesh is of Fiji Indian heritage and lives in Naarm/Melbourne, Australia. leshkaran.com
Current Issue
4 Nov 2024

“Did you know,” the witch says, “that a witch has no heart of her own?”
Outsiders, Off-worlders {how quickly one carves out a corner of the cosmos, / claims a singular celestial body as [o u r s] in the scope of infinity}
Lunar enby folks across here
Wednesday: The 2024 Ignyte Award for Best Novel Shortlist, Part Two 
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