The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Secluded in a Shadow I live alone
on the seventh floor of a shadow where it is too dark for me to be seen by butterflies which circle in puzzles in and out of morning. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
DublinBy Margaret Ormrod QuailBellMagazine.com *Editor's Note: Previously published in October 2015 by Pithead Chapel Magazine Dubh Linn (Gaelic).
Dyflin (Norse). Dublin (English). The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Faceless Abductordeath was but a catastrophe in the neighbor's house
in yours—a sympathetic murmur, and a sigh until, your favorite poet's treachery knocks you down and you cry out —"why had she romanticized 'it'?" The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Ghost GirlBy Barbara Alfaro QuailBellMagazine.com In a concert hall with eleven
chandeliers, four clever musicians play, as the ghost of a girl The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
HandsBy Fujiko Hotta QuailBellMagazine.com Her hands and legs are warm
It’ s unusual for her It makes me uneasy The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Rocking ChairBy Barbara Alfaro QuailBellMagazine.com In the nursery the ghost of a boy stands
on a rocking chair, holding its back. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
White PartyAmina liked to invite her friends over every once in a while for a White Party. Everybody would scramble to the thrift stores or their attics to put together all white outfits and look in their collections to find the saddest music in the whole world. Zusa would play her cello and sweep everyone’s heart shards away. Ellis would sing dirges from some godforsaken rocky isle in the North Atlantic. One time a Roma couple showed up unannounced to fiercely sing and stamp and clap out some flamenco.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Of Incapabilities, and PoetryI wonder what it’s like
to write poetry; to make a veritable feast of spontaneity; to paint the canvas with an imperishable portrait The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Magical Girl“Okay, Thana, today’s the day!”
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