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Artistry of Her HandsBy Harding Stedler QuailBellMagazine.com Among threads of quilt,
she left her legacy in a niche of yesterday. Except by her feet, which tapped in cadence to her stitches, her rhythms went unnoticed. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Broke-Wing BirdBy Nicole Goodwin QuailBellMagazine.com “I told myself I wouldn’t cry anymore…”
It had been almost three months since your pre-teen daughter was taken. You lay in bed, nursing the remnants of a parched throat and a broken heart. Your daughter has now been in foster care for exactly…hmmm three months? You forget the number of days it’s exactly been, but you are aware of how the ticking of the clock reports such things. How it reports that in 15 out of 22 months the reunification proceeding will transform into the ugliest of things. Adoption proceedings. And, as you lay in bed, you wonder if you can even write about such things as they are going on. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
JimiBlack, brown and beige
Moor of old UK York, The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Trump as a Fire Without Light #40Timelessness isn’t a thing. Everything ends. Even the memory of the end will be lost almost immediately. What we hold is a small burning. The hope is that there is enough light to see each other’s faces through the heat, the smoke, and the vernacular of the elements. I don’t see anyone right now, but that doesn’t mean this moment is over. That isn’t what it means at all.
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The Interstellar KingdomSometimes I see the sky smiling at me
The clear empty and clouds of flowers like my old soul watch my figure in the world |