Monsoon dream

"The irony, of course, is now that I am growing hyperaware how fast my time is ticking down, I can’t stop noticing what I never did before. Finding things to adore, things to stick to, that my eyes have always skip-stumbled over: a gecko humming on the wall, exhilarated by its own smallness. Tourists at a bus stop smoothing down their frizz-static hair, already learning the language of a country halfway between humid & a hard place. Orchid on the table, gasping & singing into bloom. This is the way that remembering happens."

Topaz Winters’ second chapbook is a delicate, petite rumination on loss & longing, on home & hustle, on memory & monsoon season.