Elastic Yellow

by Hannah Brown


into a yellow rose.
Never condone the
thoughts of a dandelion.
Same color,
different homes, blood, and roots.

into that
sleek sunflower. Look
down on dreadful dandelions and
roses. Rise up toward the
gaseous warmth, light.

No flower. My flesh is a stationary
weapon. Scary in the raw, like
religion. My flesh is not clay, as they say
in the great book, as they call it, their God
who uses clay to make
people, not flowers.

But flesh
is not clay.
My flesh is more like


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