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Quote by Belinda G. Buchanan

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Belinda G. Buchanan

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“My phone started to vibrate and I flipped it open. Yes, I'm the only person that doesn't have an iPhone. The phone talked to me. "Jackson, how’s it going?" "Hi, Echo. Veeva Stackpoole’s here." Silence. "What does she want?" "Well, at first she wanted me to run away with her and get a lot of plastic surgery - " "Oooo, can I come too?" she said. I love Echo so much. "Hey, Veeva, Echo wants to come. Is that okay?" Veeva sneered and said, "Asshole..." "Echo it doesn’t look like we’re going to go now. Veeva doesn’t want to.”

“Lying in his parents' house, in the middle of the night, she told him the whole story, about meeting Dimitri on a bus, finding his resume in the bin. She confessed that Dimitri had gone with her to Palm Beach. One by one he stored the pieces of information in his mind, unwelcome, unforgivable. And for the first time in his life, another man's name upset Gogol more than his own.”

“and consider how despised I am! (וְֽהַבִּ֔יטָה כִּ֥י הָיִ֖יתִי זֹולֵלָֽה׃) literally; “and-consider for I-am scorned!” Despised by who? Despised by her new husbandly owner, Babylon. Perhaps Judah should have considered Jeremiah’s warning. (Jer 2:20) Perhaps Judah should have considered her vows to Jehovah, and the natural consequences that come from such flagrant disregard. (Pr 14:18; Ezk 16:1-14) pg 18”

“At our wedding, our college creative writing professor read a poem—John Ciardi’s “Most Like an Arch This Marriage.” It’s a poem about imperfection, about being more together than we can be on our own: “Most like an arch—two weaknesses that lean / into a strength. Two fallings become firm.” Being married isn’t being two columns, standing so straight and tall on their own, they never touch. Being married is leaning and being caught, and catching the one who leans toward you.”

“The White Falcon by Stewart Stafford Trampled pomegranate underfoot, Fervent ascent of anatine steps, To the alabaster falcon's chamber, Viperine slither as a king's retinue. Roman breakage for a concubine, Stillbirths piled on a spiral staircase, Skewered tongues spitting smears, Spurious sparks fanned to an inferno. Denounced in the toxic public mind, Cast into a wolf pit by kangaroo court, Blood money to the Gallic executioner, Her headless ghost in a centuries' limbo. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.”