West Trestle Review
  • Home
  • Current Issue
  • Issues
    • November 2022
    • September 2022
    • July 2022
    • May 2022
    • March 2022
    • January 2022
    • November 2021
    • September 2021
    • July 2021
    • May 2021
    • March 2021
    • January 2021
    • November 2020
    • September 2020
    • July 2020
  • Cross-Ties
  • Silver Tongue Saturdays
  • About
    • Arrivals & Departures
    • Masthead
    • Submit
    • Join Our Team
    • Archive >
      • Jane Beal
      • Beverly Burch
      • Kathleen Gunton
      • Connie Gutowsky
      • Priscilla Lee
      • Irene Lipshin
  • Home
  • Current Issue
  • Issues
    • November 2022
    • September 2022
    • July 2022
    • May 2022
    • March 2022
    • January 2022
    • November 2021
    • September 2021
    • July 2021
    • May 2021
    • March 2021
    • January 2021
    • November 2020
    • September 2020
    • July 2020
  • Cross-Ties
  • Silver Tongue Saturdays
  • About
    • Arrivals & Departures
    • Masthead
    • Submit
    • Join Our Team
    • Archive >
      • Jane Beal
      • Beverly Burch
      • Kathleen Gunton
      • Connie Gutowsky
      • Priscilla Lee
      • Irene Lipshin
Search by typing & pressing enter

YOUR CART

JYOTSNA Suresh

Motivational quotes to start your day

Let us not allow the world to grind us down. Bone-powder, flesh-paste, the grind don’t stop for anyone; this is a reminder to wear your mouth guard at night.

Every day is a car wash, the slow automatic conveyance into dark. I am spun and slapped and scrubbed. I could scream. Any of us could, at any time. Just imagine a collective sound wave, vile tremors from our guts and vocal cords, frequencies piling up, train collisions, shattering ear drums, the earth’s crust. I could scream until I rend a canyon in the skin of my throat, a burst pipe, a geyser of blood and mucus power-washing the ennui off excruciating agony. But anyway, I typically wake up early and mind my diet and exercise.

When do we stop? Could it be possible that when we are dust we still remember—no, but there must be mercy, at least at the last. I consider my bad memory to be one of my best qualities. In childhood, I was a bird. I passed fleeting over the vague green, poked into dirt. I soared; I must have flapped too.

September / October, 2022

Barbara Daniels
Jyotsna Suresh is a New Jersey native who’s been writing stories since she could hold a pencil. After studying film at NYU, she moved to Los Angeles where she works on her screenplays at her local bookstore cafe. She has been published in The Maine Review.
Art:  Madge Evers. Without Complaint. Mushroom spores on paper. 
Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.