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Afternoon AlchemyBy Amulya QuailBellMagazine.com The disgruntled ruins of a dead washing machine, sit in solemn silence, rusting away in oblivion. A guava tree nudges the afternoon, and sings tales in an ancient tongue. Roses and Tulips take turns to die, Roses in the stifling afternoon, and Tulips in the darkness of the night. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Esteem of GlassI can wrap minds around few words as I hold hands and pour voices into my ears over the pale rays at sunrise. I don't understand the pain in my chest severing my body into unequal halves that sometimes scream in anger. Tap— The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Woke Up this MorningWords by Brook Bhagat Image by Gretchen Gales @GGalesQuailBell QuailBellMagazine.com *Editor's Note: Previously published The Syzygy Poetry Journal. Older than words older than light every bit born in the bellies of stars I am the light behind my eyes that doesn’t show in pictures, only in the mirror. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Fermi's ParadoxBy Eve Taft QuailBellMagazine.com Faln shifted and looked around the room. The space ship where the Galactic Representatives met stared out at the Sharan Galaxy. Like any Lu, he could focus in on even the most far away stars. He knew what every one was classified as without even looking. He could hear the conversation held at the end of the hall and through the large doors, made of petrified plant forms off Fander, before the planet had been turned into a nature conservatory. Seeing as the conversation was being held in the strange, clicking language of the Seelavisery, he couldn’t understand what was being said, but he had a fair idea that it was the same thing everyone was talking about, the reason they’d been called here in such a hurry.
“No one is going to want to hear what I have to say,” he thought, thinking of his hastily prepared data. “We haven’t accomplished anything. We’ve made the end come faster, if I’m honest.” The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
JupiterHis
In hushed tones whispering thoughts of suicide. Jupiter was in retrograde For a fortnight, I was alive. My gluttonous soul ate the words you fed me. I took and gave nothing. I taught what it was to starve. You tried but I never learned to share. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Room 2532
Now that Father’s dead, where is he? I mean besides underground in his coffin? He can’t be dead, not truly dead, not dead like that. The only way to see him is to die myself, I know, and even then we might not meet, even though we’d be closer than brothers, off in the darkness, our eyes closed for good measure. It’s a lot like sleeping but you never wake. If we’re together that might not be so bad. But I don’t know. But we wouldn’t be any farther from each other than we are now. People say I look like him. I am Junior to his The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Second and 10thChoose a lipstick that reminds him of your lips. It’s no different than jeans that wear you raw make you drylove the gusset inside a shitty diner. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
DepressionIt envelops me during the bad days, Like icy cold water suffocating me, Struggling to breathe I reached out my trembling hands, Only to grab nothing and have it laughing at my face. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Christmas Candle (Done with You)By Brook Bhagat QuailBellMagazine.com *Editor's Note: Previously published at Nowhere Poetry and Flash Fiction A Christmas candle caught my hair, Rode a light-speed flash Almost all the way. In the bathroom, As I washed out the black Saw the remains in the sink Smelled how my cells Had been transformed into air I remembered that I can go anytime. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
In The MorningThere was nothing to do but resign myself to a night spent outside. My preference was to sleep at the foot of the bed with Papa after his long stay in the hospital, but Mary never liked me inside for long. Her complaints about me always concerned her linens, and it was a constant battle. Blamed was I for every scratch and stray hair she happened upon. To her, I was nothing but a cat. A nuisance. |