My Cardboard Balcony

Before I Fell by Belinda Roddie Before I fell from Heaven, my eyes caught a glimpse of a fair maiden on a cloud; her hair was inky black, her face was taut from trauma, and her lips curled up like proud waves on the sea. And as I tumbled down, I thought I heard her sing, though I could not comprehend the words. Torn from my own crown and lyre, I felt my face all boiling hot as my head clung to the strange, warbling tune: Had she been singing a lullaby, or an elegy for damnéd sun and moon, or for the angel with both sad wings torn? I would never know, for, in Gaia's sweet embrace, I listened to my own heartbeat.

Grillin' Time by Belinda Roddie My dadsona is improving after setting up my new grill.

Holy Hydration by Belinda Roddie Drink some wine. It'll turn into water in your stomach.

Caterpillar Garden by Belinda Roddie Behold, the garden in which little Annabelle grows her caterpillars! They dance among leaves green enough to eat and flowers wearing crowns that replenish their royal flair with each passing sunstream. One day, they may grow wings, but let's allow them to be plump and content for a while longer.

Vibrant by Belinda Roddie I counted over fifty butterflies in her garden that afternoon.

The Festival by Belinda Roddie I didn't trust the man playing the harmonica, but when she played fiddle, my heart danced better than Fred Astaire. So I ignored the toxic bleating and listened to the sweet instead. When she was done, she bought me a mead, and we drank together near the setting sun. The glassblowers let their grails cool under starlight. Anything to eat? No, thank you, I replied, biting my tongue before I added that my hunger had been sated by the pretty fiddler's eyes.

Hot, Hot, Hot by Belinda Roddie There's a line forming to give Satan a lap dance.