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witching hour by. willow kang

tonight, the tarot cards divine gibberish.

perhaps even the stars have momentarily misplaced their tales;

even the grass, with its usual frolics, now only mumbles,

mouth stuffed full of lavender weed.

over the horizon, rabbits play hide-and-seek

we briefly spectate, too impatient to interrupt the gala:

first, we caper, like woodland fairies armed with glowsticks,

then jump, through the ceiling, piercing clouds,

pretending to be childish immortals

by midnight, the monarch has been sent off to bed

in a silkworm’s carriage. And us?

we write the kingdom’s desires onto basil leaves,

summoning paper balloons to be angelic envoys


Willow is a writer from Singapore, where she is studying. Her current preoccupations include taking naps, and taking naps. While not in school, Willow reads a copious amount of fairytales and writes the same way to keep herself sane. Coffee breaks are also on her mind.

Painting by. Tim Maguire


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