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The Seal, the Sea, & the CircusBy Dan A. Cardoza QuailBellMagazine.com Inspired while walking along a beach named Irish Beach. The Irish River is the tributary to this beach. Of spinning spout in wave of––I see you now, you don’t–– with sails for flippers rudder of clown of circus In the sea. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
InevitabilityBy Edward Lee QuailBellMagazine.com
The leaves bleed red in the still river, while birds cease singing as they take scattering wing, eluding the coming wind that carries the hint of death in its invisible fingers. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Lost Strophe Of AndromacheWe searched and worried about foes from the front. I sat still swathed in black taffeta for Hector. Then the Greeks rolled that gold carnival float uphill. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Kingdom NocturnalBy Adam Nagy QuailBellMagazine.com The caged warm body, a stillborn nomad Warping like carrion Held prisoner by unmerciful hallucinations Toothless and dancing Counting sheep and slipping the noose while the veil of melancholia emancipates the void. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
In a Stark LightBy Jillian Oliver QuailBellMagazine.com A ghost called Stephen made an appearance in our family life a few months after our father died in a truck accident. Mom grieved more over Dad’s death than even I did at the age of twelve, though my fifteen-year-old sister, Kat, had taken to crying heavily in the days and weeks that followed the tragedy. Perhaps their grief invaded so much space in our 19th century home in Pennsylvania that I didn’t see any room for my own. It didn’t help that the shock served as Mom’s breaking point.
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Pet"Meow", she says The only way she knows with words And then stare at me Not at my face But right through me Through the centre of my chest With those piercing eyes. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Binary“Okay Cassie, give us a kiss. Time for bed!” her mother yelled as she walked upstairs carrying Cassandra’s nightly (doll sized) cup of hot cocoa. Cassie was staring up through her frosted window at the two stars so close together that they sometimes appeared as one when she crossed her eyes. The six year old had been upset all day, it had been overcast and snowing. She was afraid she’d miss the annual conjunction. Her heart thrilled when the sky cleared at sunset. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Actual Nightmares I Had As A Toddler“Why are you crying, Anne?” a syrupy voice asks. A stranger’s hands near to change my diapers. She grabs the waistband and pulls it. I flail. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Tea with My Dead HusbandBy Maria Cook QuailBellMagazine.com When your dead husband shows up at your door, it turns out that the first thing you do is hug him. I’d have thought that I would scream, but there you have it. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
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