Wake up. And thicken my skin. Creams and balms, sunblock & jeans & winter coats, pink bows for my daughter’s long blonde hair.

Writing by Carella Keil
Art by Zola Reve


In delirious moon gardens, the goddesses dream of imaginary worlds. A tall, thin lady holds a little girl’s hand as the shadow of an eclipse cuts their universe in half. Hands stretch across infinity. green worlds fall into a void of purple skies.


I’m here. I’m hungry. Wake up. 

My daughter needs me.


Apples plummet from trees and the sky caves in on tomorrow’s blue misery. red pears and yellow eyes, the lone wolf hunts with steely determination, stalking the silent moon.


Shhhh. Hush. It’s ok. Go back to sleep.


Black rain like meteor darts, and a darkness so complete it forgets the sun.


I’m sorry he made you cry. Wipe your eyes. You’re still a good girl. There’s still time to heal.


Red sun dialing backwards, unwinding the days of our world backwards. Delicately, she rips out the memory stitches. 

A lilac gown, my darling, I’ll make you a lilac gown, to twirl above the mountain peaks.


What is real? What is real? And what is simply imaginary worlds? The subway doors slide open and closed, like the shutters of an eye, and eternity streaks past in an instant.

Mermaid scales fall from the green goddesses’ tail, while hovering yellow fairies writhe in agony as their world ends.

Teacups on the table and faces in the floor, slowly dissolving into nothing.

Muses? Muses? Where did you go?

There’s a lump of coal in my chest instead of a heart. Please, a spark, embers, please, bring my fire back.

I, I curse you, wails the little girl, abandoned by her mother on the highest mountain peak.

How did I get up here and how do I get back down?

Snow. Snow. Falling down.


Close your eyes. Cold. Empty winter. I think I’ll go back. to sleep.


The stone goddess cries pink tears. 

Even rocks feel. Every petal of this world vibrates inside her, and she hates to close her eyes to their screaming pain but I must


Wake up. And thicken my skin. Creams and balms, sunblock and jeans and winter coats, pink bows for my daughter’s long blonde hair. 

We are so intent on protecting and preserving the outside casing, while inside we are all the same spirit winds. 

My fins flutter, I long to swim away.

Originally published in Free Verse Revolution Issue X: Oleander

About The Author

Carella is a writer and digital artist who creates surreal, dreamy images that explore nature, fantasy realms, melancholia and inner dimensions. She has been published in numerous literary journals including Columbia Journal, Chestnut Review and Crannóg. Her writing was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her art has appeared on the covers of Glassworks Magazine, Nightingale and Sparrow, Colors: The Magazine, Frost Meadow Review and Straylight Magazine.

About The Artist

Zola Reve is a peculiar painter. Every time someone asks her why she paints, she says “I paint because there’s too much dmt leaking from my brain not to paint. The imagination is such a powerful thing to me, that even the smallest phenomenon that comes from the depths of my mind keeps me in awe.”

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