coming of age


Of the field and fall

What from grace we yield

of the summer-sated grasses

and the golden-hour lasses . . .

Letting go the season

has come to pass


What wouldn’t I

do to spare you?

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The earth drops her gown

from green to gold to brown

but the last thing She’ll see

is blue . . . remembering

what She once knew

. . . all the women do.

© Liana 9/14


you don’t know the second thing about me

my friend Liane’s texts usually start this way: WTF

sometimes mine do, too


listen, I don’t do that anymore very often

which she always sees right through

making up

I see her clearly, too . . . I could wear that dress and I’ve been

that hot mess . . . I’ve hedged


my bets with the same selvage so I say something

rock when she says something sand


she unravels the mesh of my flimsy plan

she says just listen Liana . . . I say I’m listening Liane


when we can’t see ourselves in the darkness

at least you know who I am


© Liana 9/14 for Liane Q



do something you’ve never done


We were hiking Kennesaw Mountain a couple days ago and the red-tailed hawks were soaring about . . . I got Jezebel, my telephoto lens, all ready and called up to the sky: OK! Now do something you’ve never done!!

That’s when one of the hawks flew right above my friend Terri and I and hovered there like a body-builder posing for the camera.

Now THAT, as my friend Gabriel would say, was BADASS.


southern gothic


“I am tired of reading reviews that call A Good Man brutal and sarcastic. The stories are hard but they are hard because there is nothing harder or less sentimental than Christian realism.”


“When I see these stories described as horror stories I am always amused because the reviewer always has hold of the wrong horror.”

~ Flannery O’Connor (who was born in Savannah, Georgia)