Migration is a self-splitting, one note observes; it’s “psychotic to live in a different country for ever.”
— Peter Howarth, in his review of Bhanu Kapil’s poetry collection How to Wash a Heart, “poems addressing the wealthy liberal woman who has taken the speaker, an artist whose immigration status is precarious, into her house.”
Perhaps I can write here again.
A ‘fleeting sense of possibility.’ — K
Kanlaon 