The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
HealingBy Adreyo Sen QuailBellMagazine.com When I was very young, I broke my mother’s heart.
She loved me, so she hid the break. But finally, the cracks appeared in her eyes. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
To the Bodythere is no limit to the bruising
because there is no limit to the body immense with arms in different centuries too often unanesthetized and The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Lotus
What if it rained? The whiteness of my clothes would soak through, become thin as paper, as the glossy shell of sleeping larvae, like the wrinkled skin of bean-sized mice, because my hair, the insides of my shoes, they aren’t made for that. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Propellants I like to think my brother was just a victim of circumstances. I like to think he might have been somebody had the forces surrounding him been different. An astronaut, an inventor, who knows? But we can’t alter the things that kidnap our interests. I guess we turn out the way we’re supposed to.
Joey had his sins, that’s for sure. He was fearless and deeply impressionable. Those were his sins, and they were enough. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Bollywood in Oaklandfor Sridevi, 1963—2018 The flute is telling us. Diadems on heads, beads swish. Dancers cartwheel & spin, moonwalk before the first man-on-the-moon, before the birth of rap. Lovers fling apart then swoosh together—color spectrum & then passion, garlands then lotus blossoms, full bosoms. Sacred cows graze in a hidden back lot. Filigreed & hammered metals swing—thin panels of silk shirred & gathered, hang from hips. In the space of a moment, how states alter. Betrothals expand beyond slums, suburbs & hoods. My worn & pale videos. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Tale of the Falling Fish Rope walkers are blessed:
They walk not only on the ground —Patimat Ramazanova, Poetess That evening, a fish fell from the sky. It was a small sturgeon, bloodied at the gills. From her window, Pascha could see it like a silver lung in the dust, and the moon of its sleepless eye. Pasha believed in omens. In the twilight, the Caucasus Mountains were silhouetted across the sky like a dark, raucous sea poised to crest. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
BeautyI can’t wear the same outfit in public twice. Not because the tabloids will judge me, but because nothing I wear outside of the ten-foot high electrified fence that guards my house ever makes it back in one piece. Once, when I was feeling particularly masochistic, I looked up how much scraps of cloth that had touched my body were going for on eBay, and it made me sick.
My hair goes for more, though, which is why I have so little of it left. Most of my money goes towards wigs, to hide the bloody mess that is my scalp, and makeup to hide the blotchy mess that is my skin. The line between a blessing and a curse is thin as the thread on a fairy-tale spindle. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
What Town? What City?By J. Ray Paradiso QuailBellMagazine.com *Editor's Note: Originally published at Dime Show Review. I was standing in a car. A car on a train. A train like Metra’s North Line to Kenosha. And the train was outta control. Like a Mexican jUmPiNg bean. Moving faster, then s…l…o…w…e…r, then faster. Every-which-way.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Poe’s Annabel Lee Dearly departed, your face fitted inside the ornate filigree frame. Your feathered hat surrounds a rawboned face. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Revolutionary SuicideI want to change the world, Be the revolution, make the elite curl. |