Bluebells (for Greta) by Amy Genova Every April someone suggests 24 Let’s meet on the 24 th … My frontal lobes thicken Bulb with 2 and 4 before I remember why Your birthday, April 24 th Today, I walk through woods masked in bluebells No one planted them They roll out by the hundreds an undulating comet tail I bend, stroke my hand through their buds— The brevity of bells break over the forest floor Twilight drizzled down and shattered in blossoms a mad clarity against lead sky A singular tune—bluebells low to ground to grave For an instant I roll in their wave Their delicate tongue 1000 songs—or maybe 24 Amy Genova has been published in a number of journals: The Bad Shoe, 3Elements, R.E.A.L., Spry, etc. She also won the 2015 James Nash prize. She has strong ties to Indiana, having lived there and raised her family from 2000-2010. She now lives in Olympia, Washing...
Flying Island is the Online Literary Journal of the Indiana Writers Center, accepting submissions from Midwest residents and those with significant ties to the Midwest.