phonetic

There are oceans in my name,
Sicilian vineyards, mangoes rotting on red
sand in summer. Mowgli has become
my father. He eats blueberries now,
popping pearls, wiping with linen napkins.

When I was born my father named me—
Divya—two
syllables of divinity.
English melts between my mother’s
lips: she pronounces the “Ch”
in Chicago like the beginning of Chihuahua.
I swore to never go to college in a city
she couldn’t fit in her mouth.
I am seventeen and still
she adds a third syllable
when she calls me for dinner:

Dee-vee-yah.
I have lost myself in
this inflection
of tongues.

A decade ago, when Cousin Vijayalakshmi
asked me my name, I added the third syllable—
I had been called for dinner 2,555 times.
My cousin told me I was
saying it wrong, then
showed me how to balance
tongue on palate, how to pulverize
mother’s love with jaw.
Seventeen and still

I don’t know my name
But I have a mother who pricks
her fingers as she tries to mend
the uneven stitches between India and
Italy. South Asia
is an awkward ball for a boot.

Author: Divya Mehrish

Divya Mehrish is an emerging writer from New York. Her writing has been commended by the Foyle Young Poets of the Year Award and the Scholastic Writing Awards, which named her a recipient of National Gold and Silver Medals. Her work has been published in the Ricochet Review, PANK Magazine, the Tulane Review, Body Without Organs, Inscape Magazine, Sandcutters, The Battering Ram, and Amtrak’s Onboard Magazine The National, among others.

artist: Kelly emmrich

Kelly Emmrich is an illustrator and animator living and working in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Her work has appeared in the magazines ‘Moonhood Magazine,’ and ‘The Emerald.’ She studied creative writing and animation at the University of Mary Washington. She is currently working as a beer label designer for a microbrewery in Afton, Virginia.