Hand mirrors for the desks of little girls. I always saw my father’s face, round and permanent as the moon.
When I say I’m female I mean I too was once in a chrysalis.
We waited for your luggage but it never came. Right now, it is elsewhere, floating down the river where at the end of its journey elk will put on your earrings and go to a ball.
Laying on our stomachs we shed legs in pairs until we were human.
In another life, I will be male. In another life, I will be female. In another life, I will be neither and my organs will dance like comets.
There is no body I was meant to be born into. Life is accidental which is the best part.
I used to be cynical. I used to shed my skin like a snake. I used to paint the patterns of male butterflies on the backs of my hands.
There isn’t room enough to sleep.
How many pillows would you like?
Robin Gow is a trans and queer poet and YA author from rural Pennsylvania.