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MurmurationBy Molly Murray QuailBellMagazine.com Shots rang out in San Bernadino,
seventy bullets bit bodies, took breath. In the bush, a starling beat its wings, called to another, rising – The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Oregon HillWords by Kaylin Kaupish QuailBellMagazine.com *Editor's Note: The following poems are about Richmond, Virginia's own Oregon Hill neighborhood. Richmond is very close to us, Fledglings, as we began our journey there. We hope you enjoy these poems as insight into the quirky, beautiful city they came from. Additionally, "Cat Skull" appeared in the Ilk and Kin zine by Maya White-Lurie. CAT SKULL I found a cat skull in the field by the graveyard held it close I would see every tooth every curve of the jaw the gap where the eyes had been my father said the rain had washed away all the life now only a unresponsive stone remained it was light in my hands almost like it wasn’t there wasn’t real I took it home put it in our china cabinet where I kept The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Holiday ChestBy Karl Stevenson QuailBellMagazine.com Untied shoe laces, sticky finger, doors the height of skyscrapers, and a vast unknown all filled my life at the age of three. I had already gained my license to drive a tricycle and rights to feed the Angora rabbit. Soon the radio changed from blaring "All Star" by Smash Mouth to announcing air times of The Charlie Brown Christmas Special on cable. Red and green twinkling lights illuminated my eyes like fireflies on every street corner warming the air. Fairies pranced around spreading sugar plums and hopes for wishes.
December twenty fifth was only a few weeks away. I was told that this year was going to be like no other. With my eyes being as full and inquisitive as a barn owl, I scavenged throughout every crook and cranny of the house. Somewhere…somewhere in that house I would find boxes gingerly wrapped by elves that would grab my attention. Attention grabbed not by wondering what gift laid inside, but by unleashing the Pandora box of emotions my child heart couldn’t even label. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Ontology of WaitingBy N.J. Mullinax QuailBellMagazine.com hell is a waiting room
with perfectly clean floors The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Devil's SwallowsWords by Emily Alford Images by Oscar Fuertes Models: Jessica Reidy and Jeanne Joe Perrone QuailBellMagazine.com *Editor's Note: Words an excerpt from Emily Alford's The Devil's Swallows: A Novel. Now, Brin saw in Darla the makings high school girls she and Gam saw smoking outside the Citgo self service station on Friday nights, draped around the ice cooler or the warm hoods of dusty cars for want of anything better to do.
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All the Way BackBy Albert Starkey QuailBellMagazine.com *Editor's Note: A tribute poem for the Pulse Nightclub tragedy. It has become too difficult now
To write poetry in a circumstance Where the blue sky cannot be Simply the blue sky anymore, The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Some Improbable JesusBy Donna Walker-Nixon QuailBellMagazine.com Like a teenage boy luring an orgasm, Father writhes while the timid followers at the Mighty Wind Church of God bellow in a cacophony of at least three different keys the second verse of “When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder.” He tries to constrain what he wants more than life to experience in the very recesses of his soul; Mariel intuits what she thinks her father feels as he moans when the rest of the church chants, “On that bright and cloudless morning when the dead in Christ shall rise.”
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Abstract ChildBy Richard King Perkins II QuailBellMagazine.com We mourn for the abstract child
as if she is possibly our own, wanting to go to her The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
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