-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-F͓̽L͓̽U͓̽O͓̽R͓̽E͓̽S͓̽C͓̽E͓̽N͓̽C͓̽E͓̽-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Nestan Nikouradze
Oh bright was the hour.
Overexposed like an editorial fashion shoot - except you were dying.
Blood on your My Chemical Romance shirt almost comical - fitting.
And me, well I just trembled like a dandelion in a racecar
and stood behind the crowd
and watched the med student fish for the bullet.
My name, a spotlight on the naked flower,
being rushed to the front.
Blood on my hands from your hands clutching mine
and how did we end up here when we were just so light and so freely twirling.
Pleas to stay with you, promises of forever your knuckles under mine -
And you, fear in your eyes like I've never seen before,
the fearless and the fastest brought down by one tiny bullet.
You do it I hear, please you do it, and me ?
I'm pouring vodka on my hands and wishing I could fish
as the sun burns our backs like eggs on concrete - help me help you.
Helena, play it at my funeral you say,
and I put a stick in your mouth "for the pain"
but just to shut you up - the real doctors come.
At this point, I look like Carrie at her prom and you're yelling through the wood
and we get hauled to the side as the pros do their thing
and it's an episode of ER without George Clooney.
Brazed ? I hear grazed, I hear, scratched the ear, .24 caliber stainless steel.
A memory of your hands on the wheel, spinning by the stage, enraged cowboys, spitting in their face, and now ?
We're at the cliffhanger season finale
and you'll either end up in a coma or a secret millionaire.
Please don't die on me - ma’am move aside.
Oh so bright the hospital fluorescence.
Your ripped shirt in a heap on the chair.
He'll be good as rain rest rest rest and doctor talk.
Red roses, dead roses in rows by the pews,
and I put the piece of wood back in your mouth so I don’t have to listen,
and try to figure out the hallway coffee machine.
I’m not going anywhere, I hear myself stay and step out into the bright bright light of the moon - someone needs to turn the shutter speed up cause we’re burning.
𝕂𝔸ℕ𝔾𝔸ℝ𝕆𝕆
Nestan Nikouradze
Gift me a kangaroo please
a baby one with grey-blue eyes
it should sit on a round tea-table
and sip chamomile with silver spoons
Lick the porcelain
make me sway
Tiny tongue touch marble
carry me away
Ď̸̡̒̌͛E̴̢͔̭̰͍̫̽̌͝͝E̵̥̋͑́̀͝R̵͇͔̫͉͇̮̒
Nestan Nikouradze
I try my best to make the legs that support me
look like sticks.
They click like hooves on the cement.
I stand on shoes with heels like twigs.
I keep my calluses smooth and my skin
fresh.
My torso is adorned with fur that puffs up in the wind.
I tilt my head and place one hand on my collar
when lighting my cigarette.
Nestan Nikouradze is a bilingual writer fluent in Georgian and English, and a Bennington College graduate. Her life has been stretched across Tbilisi, Georgia, and Queens, New York—two places she considers home. In recent years, she has focused on playwriting, but is currently working on her debut novella which will be published in the Georgian language. Beyond writing, Nikouradze is developing her own clothing line- Stay Tuned Tbilisi, and producing her plays in New York City.