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Flank - Daisy Sellas

Steak, rustic,

the fleshy side

I squeezed, spurred

on by a virgin,

stabilized by a verb.

Flank me, copper,

my hips pungent

with meat juice,

isn’t that pleasant—

but I did tend cattle

in my youth, so shut

up about it. Cleaved,

Grass-fed, and crystal

glasses cupping numbness—

greyhound, screwdriver

sea-breeze, cosmopolitan.

Do you know these

as I do? (intimately?)

Grapefruit cheeks, orange

elbows, cranberry pupils and tits

up in a bar, because I wish

my ribs showed.

The shape

of the blank slate,

freckled smile

sharp in the mirror,

but a craving

to filet

the fat away

overpowers the stench

of positivity (bleached

sand and roasted

yellow starch);


bovine reflection, you’re nasty,

drunk like the dog, the tool,

the ocean mist—

but I can’t wear a bikini

because dimpled skin

stains more than

ribeye secretions.


Daisy Sellas is a creative writing student at Belmont University in Nashville, TN. She writes poetry, fiction, creative nonfiction, and just recently got accepted to NYU as a visiting student in the Writers in New York program.


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