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Ellen Huang

I want to hold this moment
like tide pools in the palm of my hand
the white-noise-lullaby to roaring, rolling tides;
like a plush pillow on a therapist’s couch
a view of the horizon, glass sea through glass windows

like a found feather I twirl between my fingers,
brushing each soft strand in its place
like a sunset into memory, bright green flicker or not,
there is only beauty in the fading.

but moments are more like the glimpse
you get underwater before a breath
the few seconds of a hug whose
warmth you want to drape over your shoulders longer
the way a glint of sunlight winks electric green

the food I savor lasts only til I swallow, til I’m full
the dreams I feel always end in a daybreak
the music cannot be paused on a note to last forever
all we can do is enjoy the moments
slipping through our hands,
splashing up again.

Ellen Huang (she/her) is an ace writer of magical things. She reads for Whale Road Review and is published/forthcoming in various places such as Peach Velvet Mag, Rough Cut Press, Awkward Mermaid, Gabriel’s Horn, White Stag, Apparition Lit, Moss Puppy Magazine, and K’in, among others. She writes spiritual reflections inspired by favorite movies on

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