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30 lines
If Heaven hadn’t willed you to temper me— soil-scented, wild-eyed, shapeless— I would’ve lain alone by Death’s curtain, curse-beaten, shedding prayers like fur. From the earth, you bloomed in my image: emmer-fair, with nightly braids. I once thought one should…
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For us to be trans/formative we must first be trans/formed, our bodies unspooling from convention so that conviction instead becomes the messy, sticky substance that drags our bones together and gives meaning to being whole. The process is often messy…
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Your fin-feets newly evolved,the best in Late Devonianstylings. It is hot and wetand we have no wordsfor trees. They are so newtheir leaves are sayinghello to one another.The air dewy in gulped-down lungs. We leavethe Age of Fishes. Weflourish in…
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For my first testosterone injection When I was a little girl I was really a wolf in a dress & red cape, holding her sweetbread in a basket. Palms bristled, shape streamlined for speed, muzzle stronger than she knows. In…
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7:21am on the train tracks; brambles have eaten through the sleepers, and we lay bodies to bridge the gaps. my spine crackles, iron-hot, beneath the scree and steam-song. there are ball joints in my fingers. they clutch at yours, creaking…
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/ˈɡænɪmiːd/ i. Greek god (in this poem cyborg) —A Trojan boy who was abducted, and ultimately became immortal in order to be Zeus’s (in this poem His country’s) cupbearer. ii. A boy (in this poem cyborg) kept for pederastic purposes. An alienated memory…
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i speak only of beautiful things, i told the eagle on my stomach. it pecked out my liver—a kindness. it stopped the fire from reaching lower. so girl means fire. i took fire from Him, and in turn He locked…
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Brighton Pier, burnt down and always burning down. Salt channel, red dress made for more clement weather, fire farflung from the wreckage caught round my waist. Pale sunlight, chalk sisters cleaving to the east. The hegemonic world and a hedgewitch…
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I place the string in your hand, beaded with moments of sensorium and place, caught, time held witness. Your fingers rub them, your face like a prayer, wondering. A series of tiny worlds in whole and part, this world— Up too early,…
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I am not bloodstained robe, nor distorted animal mask. Grandma is lying on the ground, says there is a little girl inside me. I am not coconut peeled to nurture the dead, the moss-blue tumble of water, ghost music. The…