Blue Eyes Not blue like the polluted sea and its oil-slicked plastic. Not the summer sky spewing smoke. Not the butterfly’s royal wings fanning from a peasant’s body, but blue like the dart frog pulsing with poison, delightfully dangerous. Blue like the male peacock, nature’s first and most fabulous fashion show. Blue like forget-me-nots demanding: forget me not! How could I? I pluck a moon jelly from the beach, mistaking it for a silicone implant perplexingly washed ashore. Days later, I’ll learn the truth. Once electric, once alive, the blue jellyfish has gone gray. ♨ After #FreeBritney Can we talk about it? Your empty eyes framed by yesterday’s liner. 2007’s crop top and low shorts pulled lower. You dance back and forth behind your mansion’s door, some invisible line trapping you inside. I know freedom can’t be seen in Instagram squares, and I know you’re scared, but can we talk about it? Fresh roses, fake husband, nudes in Cancun. I want to say go girl, yet all I can think is no, girl. You’re re-learning how to love so let’s talk about it. You’re re-learning how to live, we need to talk about it. And there you go again, hair flip, spin into oblivion. ♨ Love Letter to the Drag Queen Cheshire moon smile and cherry lips, face lifted to vodka-soaked light, girl, you’re ready for a fight. High heels, padded hips, armor on. Your body is your weapon as every woman learns. This sequined gown, your siren song. I know you’ll slay in every way. Turn darkness disco, dance our despair away in glitter-tinged rain. Stomp away the sorrow of a dreary gray tomorrow, turn every septic sigh into the most beautiful high. Oh look at you, making me rhyme! The world’s meant to be your stage, I’m sorry it’s a battlefield. Imagine if bullets were flower petals floating dreamily across the sky. Wouldn’t that be nice? It's what you do— you make ugly things shine, paint reality purple. Give us a vision. Give us a promise. Give us a kiss.
—Submitted on 01/30/2023
Kendra Nuttall is the author of Our Bones Ache Together (FlowerSong Press, 2023) and A Statistical Study of Randomness (Finishing Line Press, 2021). Her poems have appeared in Spectrum, Echolocation, and Capsule Stories, among other journals. Nuttall lives in Utah with her husband and pets.
Editor’s Note: The series title Flush Left refers to the fact that, due to our limited WordPress skills, we are only considering poems that are flush left. Poems already in our Submittable queue that have simple non-flush-left formatting may be considered for publication.
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