The Fool and The Fling

By: Emma McNamara

I wonder if flamingos ever become so enamored

they forget how to stand atop a single leg—

likewise, if lilacs become so lovestruck

they fleetingly fumble their flower functions,

or if lust-led lovebirds become so flustered they falter their flight—

darling, I daydream that nature is as foolish in desire as I

oh, how I wish I could have spewed out

sonnets and soliloquies and sapphic stanzas on the spot,

but alas, the panic conquered the poet

oh, how forlorn to sit in solitude and scrawl out

verse on flamingoes and flowers,

birds and flings who flee

you handled me like clay—

molding and mending me incessantly

as though you could craft anything you craved of me,

as though, if your hands left my body for more than a beat,

I’d turn rigid and fragile and lose my elasticity,

as though, if your fingers froze, I might crack—

and so, The Fool thought, she must really like me

all the while, The Fling prepared for flight

oh, how rich to realize that

2 Fools and 2 Flings starred in our story—

though you lured me, I never meant to be your Fling, 

and surely, you never meant to be my Fool, but,

alternative titles unbeknownst at the start of Our Night,

I fancy nothing to do with whether you

enthrone me as Fool 1 or Fling 2

I no longer embody that enamored flamingo

when your energy envelops me—

I now stand steadfast atop a single leg,

nevertheless, may I regale you with a bird’s-eye view as I

stamp down my raised foot and declare that

I am not a lovestruck lilac, nor lust-led lovebird, nor clay,

yet I’ve come to realize why you treated me that way—

you handled me as though at any moment I might disappear

because you knew, come the end of Our Night, you would

oh, how dire of my damn desire

to let you swoop me up so swiftly

only to pamper me with premeditated poison

I wonder if a little birdie had forewarned me

of how tangled and temporary your touch would be,

of the brevity of our blended breaths, or

of the urgency with which you unraveled me—

would I still be The Fool fawning over The Fling who flew?

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Emma McNamara is a 21-year-old national award-winning writer from Hopkinton, Massachusetts. Her work has appeared in publications worldwide such as Wild Roof Journal, Beyond Words, Eunoia Review, Scholastic Art and Writing, and Defenestration. Emma's passions include mental health awareness, disability advocacy, and LGBTQ+ issues.  She’s been an editorial board member at Beyond Queer Words since March 2021. Follow her on Instagram @author_emma.