by Victoria James
A seven-foot swing flag hides
the past underneath it’s
red and yellow satin skin
because the teenage nostalgia
was greater than any halftime show.
Residue from vibrant
velvety Lisa Frank stickers
clings to bookcases no longer
cuddling Little Critter or
Snuffalufagus, but stacking
textbooks, classics, and SJ Maas.
Swing the flag to a little
emo Secondhand Serenade;
a siren song because he didn’t
really love me, just my (then)
skinny body (that he never got),
just wished he had. The boy who got it
swooped in, turned me on (to)
Band of Horses, Hozier, The Beatles
and into a wife that loves fearlessly.
The swing flag sits in his closet too,
noting the memories of bus kisses,
late night practice, a seafoam green
‘68 bronco under the stars —
mimicking the one that laid
on my childhood bed for years.
What a foreshadowing moment. Sun
like the UV rays and tan-lines. Stars
like the ones I saw when I found
my worth and bloomed under the
warmth and glowing light — finally.
One touch of the flag and my heart
flip-flops, searching for air as I
plummet into nostalgia — hard.
Cocoon me in the soft embrace
spinning into radiant butterfly
fit to challenge, be loud, vibrant,
leaving my own beautiful residue.
Victoria James is a high school English and Creative Writing teacher. She lives in Kansas with her husband, son, and dog. Her fiction appears in Choeofpleirn’s Spring 2023 Magazine and Cow Creek Review. Her poetry appears in Cow Creek Review’s 2023 volume, Empyrean Literary Magazine, Mindful Phoenix’s Volume I, 1134’s Archivist, and Choeofpleirn’s Glacial Hills Review.
