Beyond peacock blue
heaves the blue-black nothingness
strangely familiar
How does it work?
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.
More stories from Shobha Gallagher and writers in Poets and other communities.
Cold chicken served in mid-air flight lies swollen on my plate untouched by the flaming spices of a steaming Indian meal.
By Shobha Gallagher5 years ago in Poets
I held it in my hands Tightly squeezing my grip so it would not get out I could feel it struggle as the light that fed it disappeared
By G. A. Botero5 days ago in Poets
diving into icy water, never still craving some, wild heart thrill ringing in ears; it is shrill spotted, wading, waiting until
By Rowan Finley 4 days ago in Poets
The glass of Absinthe sat before me. It’s quite amazing how despite such terror rendered upon their stones in the preceding decades, these streets still held the beauty I first read about as a girl. I never dreamed I’d set foot on these cobbles, at least not safely.
By Matthew J. Fromm6 days ago in Art
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.