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ii

James Kelly Quigley

he/him

The incredible tulips opened up incredibly. The city ceased to
function as it rained. We could not control the heat
in the apartment. For dinner we ate each other’s childhoods.
She said mine was runny. No: eggy, that was it.
I washed the dishes. I’m pretty good at washing dishes.
She began to draw me but I said hold on,
this isn’t how I wanna be remembered when I die.
I took off my pink gloves and my dishwashing face.
She said she wasn’t gonna just start all over again.
I said then you learned nothing from eating my childhood.

 

James Kelly Quigley is a poet and painter.

© 2025 by Lumina Journal

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