Why doubt I’d grow breasts a ‘Natural’ way? Am I not ‘Real’ Flesh? Am I not enworthied sway of that Biology? Not ‘Cis,’ you think me ‘alien’? Loose? Do I so estrange? Wouldn’t I be, monstrous, the ‘Gorgon’ Lady with my two ‘new,’ added,...
so when i walk down the street, i hold hands with the wind. there’s a chimney coughing up ahead & a sky so honey, i could almost taste it. a cat struts away from me & two yellow eyes
For those of us who live at the shoreline standing upon the constant edges of decision crucial and alone for those of us who cannot indulge the passing dreams of choice who love in doorways coming and going in the hours between dawns looking inward and outward at...
Nothing by or for itself, the sound of eggs hard-boiling in the hot water echoed by the heavy rain that pours down the broken spout, the cowardly lion’s roar answered by the moos of the buffalo the bloody mouth of the one by the sharp and...
The girl hunting with her father approaches the strange man who has stopped at the end of his day to rest and look at the lake. Do you like geese? she asks. The man smiles. The girl draws a webbed foot from her pocket and...
Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.breaking....
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in my...
Is there a solitary wretch who hies To the tall cliff, with starting pace or slow, And, measuring, views with wild and hollow eyes Its distance from the waves that chide below; Who, as the sea-born gale with frequent sighs...
Since all that beat about in Nature's range, Or veer or vanish; why should'st thou remain The only constant in a world of change, O yearning Thought! that liv'st but in the brain? Call to the Hours, that in the...
On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro' the field the road runs by To many-tower'd Camelot; The yellow-leaved waterlily The green-sheathed daffodilly Tremble in the water chilly Round about...