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Dutch SnapsBy Lorraine McGibney QuailBellMagazine.com The biting snaps of this October wind
reminded me of Irish winters and a bin bag bulging, balancing on beams cushioned by custard foam, browning at the edges warmed from ascending tendrils of heat. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
You Can Learn to Listen to the Star“Something/calls through the stars, telling me/to be brave and also to be afraid.” — William Stafford, To You around Me
A distant sound lasted all day, a reckoning whispering, and when it got impenetrably dark enough to disappear, I knew what the stars were telling me. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Is and VisionDon't mention memento
Is was there and needs no reminder The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
GodsLooking at Vega walking briskly on the sands of the Sahara Pigo asked,
"Where do you go?" The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Dressing UpBy Lorraine McGibney QuailBellMagazine.com *Editor's Note: Was previously published in the October issue (2015) of The Honest Ulsterman, www.humag.co. I crept the three steps to
your room, which smelt of musty aged breath and butterfly panic. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
1000 SquirrelsAn evil stare is what I seek from unison
Some warning from this marching squirrel band A tell-tale sign of things to come Of swishing tales Of cracking whip Of hazelnut dips Tastefully chewed from within this frenetic nut The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
WakeThe flowers are more vivid, more alive because of him. People who never buy flowers find themselves walking in as if the flowers are magnets that pull their souls. She notices him once or twice a year. Instead of buying, he gives, not flowers but a smile. Afterwards, she doesn’t remember anything about him, how he looked, except the smile, and not even the smile but the radiance she felt being the object of that smile. She too a flower, more vivid, more alive.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
CorridorBy Alice Xu QuailBellMagazine.com I pinch my wrist and watch
its palette flick like a light switch, peach-white rotation. Mother closes her eyes, dreams of a morning with no sun. Whispers a nightmare: crash, crashing, crashed. Splinter. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Still LifeBy Melisa Malvin-Middleton QuailBellMagazine.com I crawl across the table
dragging my bum heart. Smudges from caring fingers trace the cracks on my walls. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
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