It’s been years since top surgery, and my chest is still numb. The nerve endings never healed. I picture the skin outside my heart woven together with fraying fibers, twisted and unkempt. I can sense pressure, but all else disappears on contact. A red hot shower, an over-washed band t-shirt, the chipped edge of a coffee mug balanced on my chest while turning the page of a book. My own hands—it all turns to sand, swept clean in the presence of my skin…
Read MoreThe grass beats its edges / on wind: in a great/white surge the moths / rise overnight: I watch / my lover eat her first fig / whole: pulped tongue: jellied / fingers at the neighbor’s / kitchen table...
Read MoreWe gather our helmets and stuff them into our ally’s ride-along car. Two beloveds pop by to hug and share mutual admiration for our leather. They will lead the parade in vests that read “Bring them back” and “Safe supply now.” I reapply my lipstick and tuck it back into my bra next to my pink pocket knife. “DYKES ON BIKES! Let’s gooooooo!”
Read MoreI slipped into the tub and pressed myself against the white porcelain. Every inch of me up to my chin submerged. My skin was hot velvet under my palm and pulled my hands along my inner curves, around the friendly dough of my too-soft abs, under the weight of my breasts…
Read MoreWe decay and become our most glorious
Reclaiming our place in the sanctuary of we
No one tells you this upon arrival…
Each time I change the water, I smell
death. When I transfer the bone
from container to resting space…
