by Jessica Hudson
Somewhere in a basement in a two-
story house in Philadelphia, a black
body named Wes is on fire. Three
years & he’s still not dead. Now
let’s watch Viola’s eyes unspool
itchy tears, thread the foundation
packed onto her cheeks, the corner-
stone of her make-up, her eyes, her
lips. When Viola cries, her eyelids
could put out a fire, wet the flag
& wrap it around your face. Now
you try. Cry like she cries: STOP
acting DROP snot ROLL with the lines
even if they feel like high school all
over again. “We recommend you
always keep someone on fire
somewhere” could be God’s advice
to 2020, but this happened three
years ago so how is our Wes(t) still
burning & who’s hidden the flag?
Jessica Hudson is a graduate teaching assistant working on her Creative Writing MFA at Northern Michigan University. She is an associate editor for Passages North. Her work has been published in The Pinch, Fractured Lit, and perhappened mag, among others.
Hawaii Pacific Review 