Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.

Tag Archive for ‘Kendall A. Bell’

Tourniquet

Your memory is a pantry cleaned of food, a shelf of peeled up paper and two ants fighting for the last stale crumb.   Your love was a tourniquet.   Your scent is fried chicken, a hated summer job. You peeled those work wears and picked lily of the valley, lit candles, cooked me food I’d never eaten – scallops, imitation crab.   You wrote poems, I threw them away. […]

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Losing Cheyenne

On the chalkboard wall in my office you wrote your name along the corner near the door frame, drew a pink heart and some strange design closer to the floor, wrote the words “Hi, I love you guys.” I’ll keep the memories of you belting out a Drowning Pool song with your own lyrics – “Let the bodies hit the beach!”, riding go-karts in Ocean City. All you want to […]

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