beach bum gender euphoria
i’ve got first date jitters
so bad that my toes have
wriggled a pit deep enough
into the scalding hot
sand that i can see
my own grave.
i’m riddled with excitement;
i can see this going
far, far into the future
but for now i try to settle down.
my date runs to the bathroom
as i tuck our valuables into
a corner so we can traverse
low tide, on a hunt for sea glass
and sand dollars.
as i tie a knot on my mustard
yellow swimtrunks, i overhear
a family gathering at a picnic
table for a group photo. a soft
and simultaneously high-pitched
voice squeaks is that a boy or a girl
as i am pulling the bunny-ears
akimbo, tightening the elastic
band to my pale stomach.
my eyes dart in the direction
of the innocent inquiry,
that kid-stranger affirming
me in ways she’ll never understand;
in ways her grandmother perceives
as insulting. hush. i don’t know.
when i plunge into the ocean,
breasts buoying against the current,
the saltwater slicks my short hair
and i emerge, mermaid-man,
bathed by the gold, beating sun.
meditating on blue, stone butchness
sprawled starfish on cotton sheets &
counting the knots on my wood ceiling.
i ask the drafty room if every mark
on the panelling represents every
moment of my life influenced
by the butch body i adorn.
i ask if i am doing enough to stand still,
still enough to allow nature, birds,
the ocean, underbrush, slumped dandelions,
my beautiful mother, to breathe
through every word i speak to others;
to transfer between my fingertips
when i hold doors for strangers; &
to encompass my solidarity with groups
that deserve more than my meager
support and sorrow.
the fan rotating beside my head,
roaring wind into my ear
is profoundly unresponsive.
my cat bats at the window,
playing with a robin that flutters
from the roof, onto a lawn chair,
& finally towards the sky, her
orange chest ablaze.
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