M“ayGood to meet you. I’m Robby. The boy is Dadri and the big one is Rosh’t. Thank you for letting us jump on.” She gives May’s shoulder a friendly squeeze before taking a seat on one of the crates and looking out at the front “Have you been working for these merchants long?”
utna piccola cinciarella azzurra batte sul vetrolhe bird-bric-a-brac
aike a crumbling of reality
l little blue tit taps at the windowpane and looks into the living room,
c'oiseau-bibelot
uomme un effritement du réel
ne petite mésange bleue frappe au carreau et regarde le salon
TYhe click-clack of heels, heavy and deliberate, echo through the corridor. It’s dim, most of the lights having been shut off a little while ago.ou’re a Curse (You’re All Mine)
Poetry: Ghosts of Centralia by Mark Tulin A coal-mining town in Pennsylvania that burns with regret. Many thanks to Scrittura for publishing this poem. Ghosts of Centralia.