Forsythia by Lana Bella

Green sulfured mouth like a squat tub
of guacamole, feasted on the hungry lake
of outstretched lungs. The old woman
was worn and fretted with arthritic fingers,
her face a map of retreating storms,
impossible language of stenciled forsythias.
Some days, adrenaline botched like bad
tattoos, when brittle bones ached her
in soft sectional chaise, where she turned
awfully yellow puddling shotgun. Flexed
and held, in speech she pecked words from
air, declined the licks of fear all seeded
from the amygdala, tasted the cherry end
of Dunhill cigarette, snorted herself back to
the weight of a bird flying into the sirens,
a tried version of knobby claws streaming
across the depth of swift, strange void.

Lana Bella
A three-time Pushcart Prize & Bettering American Poetry nominee, Lana Bella is an author of three chapbooks, Under My Dark (Crisis Chronicles Press, 2016), Adagio (Finishing Line Press, 2016), and Dear Suki: Letters (Platypus 2412 Mini Chapbook Series, 2016), has had poetry and fiction featured with over 380 journals, 2River, The Acentos Review, California Quarterly, Comstock Review, Expound, Grey Sparrow, Notre Dame Review, Poetry Salzburg Review, San Pedro River Review, The Ilanot Review, and Waccamaw, among others. She resides in the US and the coastal town of Nha Trang, Vietnam, where she is a mom of two far-too-clever-frolicsome imps. https://www.facebook.com/Lana-Bella-789916711141831/
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