by Anniebelle Quattlebaum | Nov 27, 2021 | Galileo Press
for John and Joe The blue-grey steeples of the pines,the lake’s cold oval: our perception of these shapesmakes us particularly human.Like tourists living on the shoreof what really matters, we can lean backand say “These clouds are marble...
by Anniebelle Quattlebaum | Nov 7, 2021 | Galileo Press
Ok. It’s Halloween. There’s a knock on the door and it’s your lover. Only it’s not your lover, it’s a short, fat kid wanting candy. But he knows your name and it’s not your lover, it’s your best friend. And she’s with...
by Anniebelle Quattlebaum | Oct 10, 2021 | Galileo Press
He often imagined kissing her in the rain,in one of those romantic triumphs over adversity.Reclining with his back to the earth, he stares intothe sky as it plummets into itself; he decides the sky is his pieta, a woman in a blue robeswaddling the dark space of her...
by Anniebelle Quattlebaum | Sep 19, 2021 | Galileo Press
It is Sunday. Where I live you get the New York Times at a tiny filling station whose habit it is to change brands of gasoline every so often. George’s Exxon a few years ago. George’s Texaco last summer. At present it is George’s Co-Op Gasoline....
by Anniebelle Quattlebaum | Aug 23, 2021 | Galileo Press
suppose the soul is a stoneand not the holy cellophaneI’ve fancied it,and thus — like the bodyshort of heat, strippedeven of the heart’s flimsy flam–does not hover, waft, ascend,breastroke its wayinto a panoramic hereafter(flourish of French...
by Anniebelle Quattlebaum | Jul 24, 2021 | Galileo Press
So much death in the room but no people–the candles burned down to their stumps,the food untouched, the meat growing coldin its grease. Under the couch, the cat playswith a mole it dragged in from the barn,The mole crawls off. The cat drags it back.If cats could...
