A Body, A Curse
At 3AM I Google
“papillary carcinoma”
“breast node biopsy process”
“gluten-free flour substitute”
because Christmas is coming
and my mother-in-law is allergic.
I feel like the grassy shrubs
my landlord planted in summer,
not thinking about winter. They are shriveled,
pale and wilted. “Hope they bounce back
come spring,” he says.
When people find out I’m trans, they say
“You’re so brave. You’re so strong.
You’re so young, are you sure?
I can’t imagine being in your shoes.”
When people find out I have cancer, they say
“You’re so brave. You’re so strong.
You’re so young, are you sure?
I can’t imagine being in your shoes.”
At 6AM I Google
“do you have to use your birth name
on a tombstone?”
It’s a bad idea to check old emails
I promise there’s nothing in there except
every time you were a bad friend promising to write more often
every virtual therapy appointment every electric bill and overdue statement
every time you were cruel from miles away every time you asked for help
and got it but didn’t know what to do with it every time he said
“Good to hear from you. Of course you can visit. Anytime.” and only after ten years
does it feel right to let yourself in without knocking to accept a beer
to sit on the porch for two hours in the winter smoking apologizing for old emails.
It will not bring you nostalgia it will only remind you that you are full of bees
sometimes honey melancholy sometimes
enraged buzzing sometimes
jolting through your fingertips in a draft you will never send
planning trips you will never take to see friends you never talk to anymore
until you get a package from Montana with no name on it
whiskey and chocolate inside and a note from someone
you keep meaning to write.
