March 15, 2023
Do Metamorphic Amphibians Know How to Flirt?
A frog puts on her human skin and walks into a night club
at the magic hour when everyone is half-drunk.
If she can get anyone to kiss her,
she can stay human.
She doesn’t understand what makes a human
beautiful, wears too much moist-earth
perfume. The music doesn’t move her to dance.
Her human legs don’t have enough joints
for the dances she knows.
Her heart is missing a chamber
and everyone can sense it.
She doesn’t know why she wants
to be human until
I catch her eye in froggy reflection
in a hurricane glass, sip the space she leaves
on the lip of my drink, she transforms
the ice in my glass into a golden ball
she doesn’t ask me to define her allure
beckons me to the dance floor
with a flick of her tongue
JESSICA COLES (she/her) is a poet from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada (Treaty 6 territory), where she lives with her family and a judgmental tuxedo cat named Miss Bennet. Her work has appeared in Prairie Fire, Moist Poetry Journal, Crow Name, Capsule Stories, Full Mood Magazine, You are a Flower Growing off the Side of a Cliff (LCP Press chapbook), and CV2 (forthcoming). Her chapbook, unless you’re willing to evaporate, is available through Prairie Vixen Press.