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.