Elle Heedles

Pesticide

 

My high school crush

is putting out fires

 

in his vineyards. 

It’s too late for that—

 

the bees have made us 

their enemies. Some poets

 

still remember the way

things used to be

 

before we were attractive. 

In photographs,

 

my yellow bucked teeth

ruin everything. 

 

There are no songs about me, 

just resonant buzzing

 

caught in someone’s throat. 

In my head

 

there are honeybees 

all year round, 

 

but who will remember

such small ghosts? 

 

This was my reward

for living, given up

 

when I took a knee

so I could be romantic. 

 

I feel sorry for everyone

who married their first 

 

love, who’ll never know

the fuzzy sadness 

 

of knowing too much. 
We need to be stopped. 

Gel Pens

 

To determine a full moon,

look at it from far away.                                 

 

The ink in my pen is gold

and made of stars and walnuts. 

 

My doctor says my womb is no good,

and will remove it with vinegar. 

 

I hope it is fast, like the moon,

and painless. Afterwards, 

 

I will work a nightshift.

Do you know what this pen

 

has in common with a Hello Kitty

bandaid? Everything could be better.

 

I go through one pen a day,

all at once. The hours drive by,

 

I can’t see a thing, 

and when I touch my face

 

it’s all over me, new cancer

like pretty girl freckles. 

Elle Heedles was born in Vienna, Austria to American parents, and received a BA in English Literature from the University of Edinburgh. Their poems have appeared in Pain, The Inkwell, the anthology Luminous, defiant, and others, and are forthcoming in the Northwest Review. Their work has been shortlisted for the Lewis Edwards Memorial Prize and the Wrolstad Contemporary Poetry Series. They are currently based in Vienna.

© 2020 Colin Herd and all the individual poets

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