A Quiet Blue

by Jenn Powers 

The least he can do is hiss. Coiled, black. That’s how we girls detect danger, sense hate. Blood takes the shape of a heart, the easiest lure of symbols, deep into the earth’s core. Fire so hot it’s cold. His desire is the broken neck of a beer bottle in an alleyway. The heels skid raw, down to the marrow. The romantic moon is a liar—it’s not safe. It’s a tale for future generations, but we girls won’t listen. We want what we want. We smile and take it, the ripped sheath between lips. Our sundresses are slashed away and sewn back onto our skin with twine. First, take a good look at what he considers wrong: electricity, hair, lightning, flesh. The rush of rain cleaning sheets, healing slit wrists, bandaging the words burnt into skin: dirty, whore, worthless. We girls float like daisy chains. We trail the serpents down boiling rivers. We shake, we kneel, we scream, we beg until it turns a quiet blue. Like the news of a death in early morning. But no one’s died. It’s just the same feeling. It’s just what’s been taken from us. Bones, birth, dust. Nothing, everything. something. Like a damaged Polaroid later made into art. Made into that indescribable, unexpected beauty of something supposedly ruined.

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About the Author:

Jenn Powers is a writer and visual artist from New England. She is currently at work on a psychological thriller. She has work published or forthcoming in The Pinch, Jabberwock Review, Hayden’s Ferry Review, Calyx, and Spillway, among others. Her work has been anthologized with Kasva Press, Scribes Valley Publishing, and Running Wild Press. Please visit www.jennpowers.com for updates and more information. 

About Weekly Flash Prose and Prose Poetry:

CutBank Online features one work of flash prose or prose poetry every Monday. Submissions are free and open year-round. Send us your best work of 750 words or less at https://cutbank.submittable.com/submit