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Exterior DesignBy Hannah Nathanson QuailBellMagazine.com * Editor's Note: This poem was written in response to Sage Enderton’s poem, “For Mitchell” You tell me to use your ribs as stairs, to build a home in the faint hairs on your hands. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Lunch at Elementary SchoolBy Albert Zhang QuailBellMagazine.com The lunch line, swirling Full of anxious adolescents Waiting to feed in a frenzy Of hotdogs and burgers The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Blissful VesakThe flowers are all in a magnificent bloom The full moon glistens like a golden plate The flowery canopy over the foliage looks like a shimmering bridal sari The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Alice Shade“Curfew is in effect, I repeat, curfew is in effect. Any citizen caught outside will be brought in for questioning. If needed, upgrades will be provided.” Zimara Doyle stood in the shadows, listening to hear the crunch of copper-metal feet crunching on the cobblestone streets. Standing in the shadow her aunt’s building, Zimara wore black slacks and jacket, hiding from mechanical threats. She glared at the speakers placed on the corner of every building in the town of Steel Victoria. A town named and reshaped by a woman who had found immortality and the means to tether everyone in iron servitude. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The CocoonBy Nathan Tompkins QuailBellMagazine.com
When the moment came and the word received gripped in our own convulsing hands The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Ballad of the Night NursesDarkened I the hospital door wan of spirit, broken of heart, the pain unable to endure, when in walk in two saucy tarts, a frightful coupling, sweet and cruel, witless I had wandered in their lair, I am the damndest of fools! The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Camilla’s Ghost Story
I saw the ghost on the 26th of December, Boxing Day, and the experience stayed with me through the snowless, hazy week that followed. I stopped thinking about it right around the New Year’s Day blizzard, and I should not have. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Painted TreesBy Mary Romero QuailBellMagazine.com I am studying the difference between love and infatuation, confessing my thoughts to the trees The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
I Am a SoundI am not a body,
a prison cell for the soul in which the only joy that can be experienced is what can penetrate the deceitful senses. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Winter Willow
It was the second year of winter. The sun shone onto the forest village and the village pond, yet the rays bounced off solid ice and brought no warmth. Only few things lived in this cold—the humans of the village, the deer that fed on the few surviving plants and killed them, and the large old stag that fed only on the most precious plant of all: the Winter Willow, which could cure almost any disease. |