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Astral PlaneBy Ruth Dominguez QuailBellMagazine.com the problem of molecules is eternal genesis reaching you on the astral plane I longed for corporal substance transformed again, my feet were never on the ground my hands were the air-pockets in my joints the movement of my tongue a disturbance of ancient moss when waking on my deathbed, I realized we had not encountered each other in this life, the oxygen around me fizzled the dust cleared from the avalanche that was my vision. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Girl in a TowerBy Valerie Nielsen QuailBellMagazine.com She leans toward her reflection in the rain stained window, dabbing at her painted lips. She pinches her cheeks knowing she can depend on her lifeblood to answer her call. Hadn't she of late felt its heat rush to places she didn't know exist, warming her in ways she hadn't suspected possible? Resting her head against the cool glass, she searches through the waves of rain looking for her chariot below. She sees the familiar shape of the window ledge, puddles forming in its valleys. How many times had she stared at the cracks in its paint, wondering if she would ever be called on to participate outside her concrete walls? A horn sounds below. Locking the door, she slips the key into her purse. Holding the tarnished railing, she lets it guide her down the dim stairwell. Climbing into the car, she pauses to look up at her apartment window. Cool drops land on her face. She is glad for the rain. Spring is here with all its promise. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Say Hi for MeProse by Josephine Stone Photos by Christine Stoddard Model: Angelica Karns QuailBellMagazine.com Dear Tommy, Listen. I understand that all good things gotta come to an end. I just didn't expect ours so soon. I know you weren't a big fan of the way I hung out with the guys--Michael in particular. But you know that his dreamy blues couldn't keep me away from you. Or the way that he could always make me laugh, or knows just the song to put on when I'm feelin' down. Those things wouldn't keep me away from you. I'm feeling happier now, though. It's been about a week, and I've quit compulsively pressing buttons on my phone to wake up the screen, expecting a new text or missed call while I'm in class. I know you're probably busy. Baby, I just want you to know that I wasn't distant when Michael was around because he was more interesting or jovial, intelligent or confident. You guys are best friends, and best friends can be so alike. Sure, he'd beat you at all the games and races, including picking me up after work when my car broke down. But who likes a guy who only cares about winning? I just wanted you to know that he had nothing to do with us. Sometimes I miss when we would hang out. All of us. Hanging out on the porch, laughing at people who walked by, smoking cigarettes and flicking the butts out to the curb. He'd ride up on his skateboard and pop it up into his hand and wave with the hand he'd just brushed the hair out of his eyes with. But you were always the center of my attention, baby. You know that. Sometimes I wonder if you talk to him about the one that got away the way I do with my friends when I think back to our relationship. And at those moments I wonder if he knows I feel that way. Well, Tommy baby, I just wanted some closure. Wanted to tie the knot at the end of our frayed friendship bracelet. Oh, and can you tell Michael I said hello? Love,
Katherine The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Whilst Fixing Her HairPhotography by Hannah Bliss Poem by Erica Breig QuailBellMagazine.com A sigh for every memory,
She longs for the days past. Her world gone within a blink; How nothing seems to last. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
OstrichBy Nick Chandler QuailBellMagazine.com Stifles, fluffing neck to nape Scheming atlas, heliotrope cities Road stretch, mix ruff tumble bell Chime, froth and stumble over Sweet summer sweater Trace yarn and candy Over long lines of pavement Incumbent, fandangle Jalopy fuel hounds Mad happy hyenas Stalking the bare necks Of buried-head birds Bite to find porcelain and polyester Lace and colored glass An ocean of milk and sound The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Love & MelancoliaPhotography by Stephen Palke Prose by Julie DiNisio QuailBellMagazine.com The movies told her love was easy and usually worked out for the best. Cynics told her that love was never easy and seldom worked out for the best. Two trite sayings don’t make a right. She hoped for the movies but trusted the cynics–and she found out her own truth. Love is lonely when things don’t work out. Love is melancholy when things almost–but don’t quite–work out. Yet love is still the most prized affection in the world. Why? It angered her that she couldn’t yet understand. Yet life has a way of making it tolerable. Laying in a grassy meadow can make most love disappear for a while. And in her own way, she loved that. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Wizarding LondonBy Emily Waxwell QuailBellMagazine.com The heart holds the power In this secretive town It’s where the Ministry of Magic Breaks queer cases down. The Ministry of Magic Full of truth and lies Is corrupt as any other government But that comes as no surprise. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Loving at the End of the WorldBy Candice Marie Broughton QuailBellMagazine.com Sweet Dark Eyes Closing Fear Falling Sinking To A level never previously explored Just so you know I love you Just so you know I love you Just so you know I love you Curtains Drawn In Shadows on scattered, shattered flecks of broken charm If not in my arms, then in whose? Who shall seek to disarm? Amputate, but do no harm |