The Viscosity of Lavender

I twist the knob on the radio past
seven Smooth Jazz stations,
towards static I won’t be asked to transpose
down to flash floods and flash fiction.
Nobody, not even a cotton blossom, has hands subtle as his.

Pantone made a mauve called caution color of the year,
acknowledged my American mouth as its second Muse.

I anoint both metacarpals with nail polish remover,
pull my braid back like prayer beads,
sickened on a Saturday afternoon
over the half-smirk he smears
when we see retired soldiers in automobile adverts.

There’s nothing as soviet as suicides in the student union—
the incessant silver of sickles and satellites,
my heart waning Gibbous again;
Adolescence is more lurid than love.

Laura Ingram is a tiny teen with large glasses. Her poetry and prose have been featured in thirty-three literary magazines, among them Gravel, Moledro Magazine, Allego Poetry Magazine, Cactus Heart Press, If and Only If, NoiseMedium, and Assonance Literary Magazine. Laura is a creative writing student and infrequent freelance editor. She loves Harry Potter and Harry Styles.

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