Unsignified

1 Minute Read Time

This photograph shows itself submerged underwater with a ray of light peaking from the surface.
Photo by Greg Nerantzakis on Unsplash
I

There’s part of me that isn’t a girl

When she stamps and rages
red lights shoot along the ground

Unafraid of the moss-hung woods

She goes there
when the world wants to erase her

Or to the ocean floor

Shape-shifter Tentacled
Writhing and lighting up

Tetras float around her
She sends up a wave of sound

II
Once I had a friend

We dreamed in two genders and when we woke

We spoke of invisible things




III
Sometimes your love constructs like a foreign language
from a country
where everyone knows who they are
I visit You push my hair
into the style of the women and pull me toward
their sound

There’s part of me
this country never touches

IV

Once you came to explore the undersea

We’d tossed for days in a ship near your shore

Then I took your hand and plunged—

Your eyes to mine through the blue

You took
a delicate tentacle into your mouth

Read more from Issue 17.1.

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