Flower

flower

rosetta

Posted by on 6:58 pm in blog | 0 comments

A photo posted by angelina bellebuono (@a_bellebuono) on Apr 27, 2016 at 5:47am PDT rosetta goat on lap after 10 pm. she still needs morning and evening shots so she sleeps inside in a dog crate filled with hay. since she had never been handled prior to arriving here three weeks ago and had already weaned from mama’s milk, for rosetta, learning to goat is more about trusting humans and getting lots of affection and gentle attention than about becoming a part of the herd. that learning will come as she increases strength and...

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zeppelin, the greyt. {not-so-nine-lives}

Posted by on 6:59 pm in blog | 0 comments

A photo posted by angelina bellebuono (@a_bellebuono) on Apr 26, 2016 at 5:36am PDT zeppelin the greyt. {feral turned friend. chicken herder. babygoat watcher. sun chaser.} lost his earthly lives {too few it seems} on the road last night. it hurts the heart to know the void he leaves. peace to you, zepp. you brought greyt magic to our...

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the story i write

Posted by on 3:48 am in blog | 0 comments

the story i write

{weight | waiting for breath} the cacophony of cicada song and the flimsy silk of spider architecture, the sharp angle of high sun and low shadow cast by the oak tree, heavy-leafed and sentinel in the front yard. i have been lost in all the heat holds dear, adrift in the glare of neon questions and answers in closets without keys. numb, heavy-limbed, i’ve stumbled through summer. it heartens me that the goats ask for little, content with their 60 hooves, 30 horns, 15 rumens swishing waves of rhythm as i press my ear against the fur of...

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love needs only three legs.

Posted by on 3:16 pm in blog | 0 comments

love needs only three legs.

at madison health & rehab, a question is asked: may we have a dog here? the staff & residents vote. the answer is yes. ‘but what dog?’ the residents ask. they visit the humane society of morgan county and meet tres. tres is a stray the group rescued, despite his mouthful of abscessed teeth and his seriously infected leg. but in the hsmc’s care, tres had blossomed, even with three legs and no teeth. for the staff and residents at madison health & rehab, the answer is clear: tres is their dog. tres is renamed, again...

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when the pasture goats go virtual

Posted by on 2:05 pm in blog | 0 comments

when the pasture goats go virtual

  i do not know the 380 people who have posted comments or shared on twitter about the essay i wrote for pc gamer magazine. i do not know why they read my words or their stories about why the essay was relevant to them. yet i feel compelled to thank each one, each @ or # or whatever symbol has come to represent a human at a screen. i don’t know if ever in my life 380 people have read my work. i do know 380 people have never before shared or commented on a single piece of my work. i’m humbled and i’m grateful. but i am...

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signs.

Posted by on 12:28 am in blog | 0 comments

signs.

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ode to pearl

Posted by on 11:00 am in blog | 0 comments

ode to pearl

pearl. livestock guardian dog. a ridiculously cold monday night. january. darkness sets in early, as it does midwinter when spring feels like an idle promise from lying lover. for some reason, barking perhaps, our attention  is drawn to the pasture and we survey the situation in the field by colemanlanternlamplight. in shadow and flicker we see four goats, as we had left them moments before, and two more bodies, running in whiteghost through ink, drawing lines in the night with their bodies. mark, the bolder of us, screams, runs– arms...

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room to grow.

Posted by on 9:49 pm in blog | 0 comments

room to grow.

last week, in this small, rural southern town i call home, i visited a store. a named-store but one i won’t name here. while shopping, a woman i know spoke to me. i taught her child, now grown, many years ago. there was talk of weather. updates on the adultchild. sharing about the new year. personal goals. food prices. then she says another of her children, also grown, just lost a job in our small town. mom didn’t elaborate, but alluded that the termination was race-related. i listened. asked a few questions. listened some...

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hatching.

Posted by on 4:08 am in blog | 0 comments

hatching.

The school secretary’s voice broke the drone of Mrs. Dixon’s fourth grade social studies lesson. “Please send Angelina to the office. Her father is here to pick her up.” I stopped Mrs. Dixon mid-monotone sentence as she resumed her lecture. I asked her if she knew why I was being checked out of school by my father, before lunch, on this rather ordinary, early-spring day, when I didn’t even have a doctor’s appointment. She didn’t know. Her voice followed me as I gathered my belongings and left the lesson behind. My father met me...

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tommy

Posted by on 3:05 am in blog | 0 comments

tommy

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