I played with the curls of your clipped auburn hair that I kept sealed in your grandma’s silver locket, because you always said I didn’t truly see you. But I […]
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The Metaworker Literary Magazine
Where great stories are forged
I played with the curls of your clipped auburn hair that I kept sealed in your grandma’s silver locket, because you always said I didn’t truly see you. But I […]
Read moreAre you dead, Maria? One Hour It seems so. Seven Days Their black clothes. Their black veils. Their white handkerchiefs, dry in their pockets. None linger at my grave. No […]
Read moreFloating, ghost horse wakes in a fieldExactly like his own, just that he can’t touchThe soft weeds crawling up the fence.At first, he shivers into invisibility.His long colt legs, long […]
Read moreBob Sanders awoke one morning from a dream to discover that he no longer existed. He had died in the night. He had been fifty-eight years old when he died. […]
Read more“My mother says the camera steals souls,” #MetaworkerMonday
Read more“In the dead and dark of night,/
upon a haunted gorge they rise.” #metaworkermonday
She wanders through the streets past midnight. They assume it’s too dangerous for her. It isn’t because anyone who would harm her is asleep. She, on the other hand, is […]
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