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  • Madeleine French


if yellow were a scent it would be this top note of sunshine the first to fade heart note something like basil base note clover, or cedar I forget how I learned this and I couldn’t say why some random facts took root still, it’s all my fault: these amber blooms were right here crinkly-velvety soft waiting to share their secrets if I’d only stopped to breathe them in

About the Author

Madeleine French tumbled into love with books as a young girl, and never looked back. You may find her in front of a sewing machine, behind a copy of Persuasion, or occasionally on Twitter, @maddiethinks. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Poetica Review, Paddler Press, Words & Whispers, Hidden Peak Press, West Trade Review, and elsewhere. She and her husband live in Florida and Virginia.


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I stepped on a praying mantis yesterday, the act unintentional, irreversible, my apologies sincere, profuse. Can the dead forgive? All that was once inside the worshipper now lay atop the pavement, as

the deepest wounds are caused by those we thought loved us, but only used us instead; those who wasted our time, our love, and our affection— they say not to regret it, but i do; wish i had spent the

I sit upon rocks at the edge of a cliff acquiring new wrinkles as you read. My sorrow runs the risk of rhyme, the outright gifts of revery. I know you’re hungry for happiness. I wish I had the cure. S

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