Transitory
There is danger in the middle
I ignore the warning
of querying eyes
neither fish nor fowl
excess flesh
where only muscle
should protrude from chest bone
My body
a contested site
a meeting place
for White imaginaries
Brandon Teena’s squelched laughter—
ground to ivory dust
somewhere in Nebraska
a constant reminder
of what they might do to me
outside of a men’s restroom
I chew my fears
into molars at night
trace them on lovers’ backs
string together a personal history
from piecemeal memories
in case anyone asks
in case they write a book
in case someone wants to read
between the lines
in case I vanish
A Habitude…A Fortitude
had forgotten these
small libations
overpriced
irish cream latte
with oat milk
to thaw the chill
sliced aloe stalk
ripened for healing
severed razor bumps
or gooseflesh
or shallow summer projections
and too, what sunlight means
without warmth
just brief, twinkled reprieve
from the cavernous hauntings
of pervasive midnight
how we name breeze
when tufts of tepid air
roll gently across
bare thighs and shoulders
but now, call wind
sinking teeth into
cherried lips
naked necks
and backs of hands
had forgotten
glasswork fingerprints
all somber
all grey
rushing
between spaces
lingering after meals
just to savor
one last heat
intrinsic to this
annual misremembering
every solstice
a reminder
KELSEY L. SMOOT (They/Them/Theirs) is a full-time PhD student in the interdisciplinary social sciences and humanities. They are also a poet, advocate, and frequent writer of critical analysis. Their poetry has been published in Cathexis Northwest Press, The Moving Force Journal, Bottom Shelf Whiskey, Poached Hare, and elsewhere.
Twyckenham Notes 