Anita Parmar News

Anita Parmar writes Twelve Inch Special for Female First.

The throw-out ends and broken halves, from ends of pencils, old school bags: darkness saw the erasers...

Yes, you had fit perfectly around the back of my neck holding my waist, coating my legs. I have my...

The boy at the till understood me just fine Job done, not quite fast enough but that's what happens when...

Unrequited insincerity Is the reason I'm unsettled Independent women hunger Co-dependent women marry

of what I used to be and how I'd somehow known it wasn't me, yet still be grateful for the mulch

Crispness in your decision caused me to pay attention to your details: the warmth of your shoulder. Your...

A perfect haze reforms a cloud to rest your weakened knees. Untwisted spines from red-book corpses, whitened...

At twenty, I dreamt I was looking down at my daughter and cupped her face lovingly in my...

A bowl of ice cream or rice can't talk back or push your feelings away. but when the bowl is...

A third of the way to my stop I notice the same brow again A scarfed lady pushing a wheelchair Her...

Lights were muffled by the condensation Flickering through where drops had dripped.

Pneumonia in the throat, it was called, How do I acquire some of that?

Savagery run. Hues of his eyes, reds of his palms Holding disgrace.

"Superficial" was my meaning, when the shallow depths were yours?

The Stapler The curtains drawn, your casing still glinted reflecting bleak light, your metal edge...