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Fireworks
By Nick Wenzel
QuailBellMagazine.com The trailer home smelled of eggs and sizzling bacon. John, now twelve, was seated at the artificial wood table in the breakfast nook, and gazing out through the crack in the blinds. Through the thin slit, he could make out the neighboring trailer home and its owner, an old widow named Martha Hildegard, with white-purple hair, who wore thick black sunglasses all the time. Martha was currently seated in a nylon lawn chair under the candy-striped awning of her mobile home, her wrinkled old feet soaking in a bucket of hot water, the brown whiskey and ice clinking in her glass, as she smoked long thin cigarettes and read the women’s magazine that lay sprawled across the bareness of her spindly, bruise-mottled legs. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Revue
Words & Photography By Rony Nair
QuailBellMagazine.com
There’s the varnish,
the wall, the tinder of grey, that give off the stench of a world trying; in the pontificate. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Gun-NaoAs Gun-nao sipped black tea in the kitchen, his daughter and wife played a game of chess at the fold-out table on the back porch. Alexa’s brown hair had lately become dry, no longer smooth like his own, and Florida’s July made each strand separate from the pack. The hairs rubbed her throat when she talked. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Choked
By Steven Joseph McCrystal
QuailBellMagazine.com Inside my head is where I live behind my mask of fears. My porcelain lips might crack a smile but they are fixed and frozen. Silent empty thoughts choke the echoes from my mind: a mind that’s truly broken. How do I convey these thoughts? Express my inner will. Will you understand them or will you need a pill? Dull storms and duller darkness consume my lonely inner voice. Any feelings of soulful color trickle down the star struck gutters in my life. Hours of flat line greyness smother each and every thought. As I live, I die, as I breathe, I cry, as I want for something more: A desperate desire to ignite my soul, to bring it back to life. The defibrillators already broken so Fight, god damn it, fight!
#Unreal #Poetry #Choked #Brokeness #Fight #ExpressYourInnerWill
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Edges
Words by Elizabeth S. Gilliam Hedgepath
Installation by Serra Victoria Bothwell Fels QuailBellMagazine.com
On the Virginia Carolina state line I saw a crow
She hopped, warily pecking gas station offerings We are all feasting on something low We drove to the ocean and then I realized upon seeing the sea I'm always different at the edges of the earth The middle of anything encloses me I inhabit best when climbing up a cliff, fingers touching the summit ledge Or standing toes in sand where I can step on the place where the sea meets touchable land's edge Am I a creature of extremes? For though no wanderlust is in my veins I push the edge and pluck at seams That crow she could live in arctic or dessert And fashion a feast of anything But if there is one thing I've noticed: My mother she is afraid of everything except for the sea And I'm afraid of the monsters that live in there I'm only scared of things that can't hurt me
#Unreal #Poetry #Nature #Fear #Mental #Adaptability #Mountains #Sea #Installation #Wood #Cavern
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