europhic blooms
— isabelle jia

plaster me up on mountain walls.

concrete and syrup soothe misery,

gray slop mix golden hues from

sticky, into smooth.


caress my calf-skin body.

brush till it sheens of gloss

all soft and green.

then, fold me away

four-legs no breath.


quivering hands touch

my neck, a whisper:

shy girls can spread

their legs, too.


taste the tremor of cherry coke

within my lips. blister me clean

of carbonation and hold me close

to hear the sound of my hips,

ring small and clear.

splitting open a ripe girl

The tongue remembers almost everything

like his name and the mangling of meat.


You lift your hood and you’re in the abandoned school—

the ripping of pomegranate flesh, ripe like laughter.


The musk says, “You know, her plucked blue body is still stuck
choking on your tongue.”


He fishes out a bottle of bones. Coughs out

a seed stuck between his gums, microphone silence.


You see her sometimes in the twilight of

the hallway and she always asks,


“Baby, do you think I could have been someone?”

her body stuck inside a ghost girl.


He walks away, jingling her ivory to the tune of

her parallel.


She takes a look at her creased reflection

only to see you.


Isabelle Jia is a writer from the San Francisco Bay Area, CA. Her whose work has appeared, or is forthcoming in Alexandria Quarterly, Rising Phoenix Review, The Blueshift Journal, and many more. Jia has attended the Iowa Young Writers Studio and the California State Summer School of Arts. She has also been recognized as a California Arts Scholar, by the Walt Whitman National Poetry Foundation, and the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards. Currently, she works for The Speakeasy Project and The Ellis Review. For more on her work, go to