from ET IN ARCADIA EGO & AM GIRLISH
September 26, 2020
i synth my finger across my phone screen
& watch the crane fly backwards, an echo
of yarrow, white as
a statue. next was white queer unfucking
themself : then rapture : then neon w/ holes.
in a clinic i will not tell the nurse
my name. my name,
in a dead language, means broad field.
then paradise. then fell.
a decade from now, we would have had words
to describe what looking at me
feels like. a time machine is a machine
for forgiveness. when the world is done
w/ us, i wld see u glint in her noise.
but i wanted to build
a natural thing :
meadow, chandelier, a twentieth century
of leather frontiered in lace. imagine
every countryside unwomanly
& sirens. the grass sobs : is sobbed across.
handcuff, white-gold, cross
& who of us would be chorus elsewhere?
every mirror an aperture of we.
let me show u.
when i was a boy, i only spoke one language.
when i was a day, i licked its glass from the floor.
from Issue 31.2, Runner-up for the 2019 Wabash Prize for Poetry
BRADLEY TRUMPFHELLER is the author of a chapbook, Reconstructions (Sibling Rivalry Press). Their work has appeared in Poetry, The Nation, jubilat, and elsewhere. A MacDowell Fellow, they are the co-editor of Divedapper and live in Massachusetts.