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Ever Fallen In Love?
I
We sit in the café on Salvation Army couches The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Inheriting the Afterlife
Anubis will not
Lead us into our death, as We will command it.
#Unreal #Poem #Anubis #Afterlife #Mural #Painting #LifeAndDeath #Command #Leadership
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Trains Coffee Women
By M.C. St. John
QuailBellMagazine.com
Cups of coffee exhaust me now.
Yawn at the thought of train rides to Lakeview The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
but nature kills love too
Words by Archita Mittra
@archita_mittra Image byGretchen Gales @GGalesQuailBell QuailBellMagazine.com i. the stories painted on the cave walls are dying in silence. i can see myself in the ancient pool, a woman leached of colour and ambition, yellow-white skin flaking off like old plaster. i write my suicide note on pebbles with limestone chips and arrange them in a circle around me, like a private universe. minutes later, i am stepping out of the ring. the stalactites and stalagmites are stoic-they are used to this, to a world withering and crumbling with despair. when i leave the cave, i leave my heart behind. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Contractures: Three Clinical Patterns of Embracement
By Jen Karetnick
QuailBellMagazine.com
I. Internal Shoulder Rotation (Hug)
Hold me like emotion against the muscle wall. Don’t allow ease; escape. II. Bent Elbow, Bent Wrist (Arm-in-Arm) Flexion is more common than extension; we keep things to ourselves. III. Clenched Fist (Hand-Holding) Clasped tightly into the palm, fingers show us, in part, our weaknesses.
#Unreal #Poem #Hugs #Kisses #Affection #Valentine'sDay
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Another Light
By M.C. St. John
QuailBellMagazine.com
She steeps her tea and says,
Write positive things, full-metered and bursting with light. I know you can. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Say Good-Bye to the Good Old Invisible World
Now Mommy trusts me.
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Casey at the Bat
By James Kincaid
QuailBellMagazine.com *Editor's Note: Italicized portions are from the poem "Casey at the Bat" by Ernest Lawrence Thayer.
Then, from all the throats, there rose a mighty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell; It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat. For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Rachael In The Park
I can’t exactly remember the first time I noticed her. It was probably after I had moved into my new apartment near the park. It was a great view and a safe neighborhood, but I didn’t realize she would be coming along with the deal. It wasn’t until about the eighth or ninth time I saw her in the park that I realized how strange it was that I kept seeing her there.
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A Change of Address
By Christine Hamm
QuailBellMagazine.com
There's a wall where a tunnel was before. The tunnel leads to an underground lake. Scent of burning feathers. You skinny-dip with a red-haired white girl; you want to touch, you don't. Your father's face rises to the surface, his eyes closed. He sputters, reaching for you.
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