Deaf Sign For Beautiful


deaf sign for beautiful

First published in Guernica, 2014


Dear world, I am moisturized and waiting,
and yet you persist in trimming my roots
into blisters. I never did heal, we each
took our turns at crying in cubicles,
eating little muffins out of soggy
paper and dreaming of this. A handsome
man to lift our ankles up and over
his shoulders; for the time we would swallow
vitamins voluntarily; skin the
same, every day of our lives; nail polish
that stayed on, either side of the weekend.
But your sky has changed—autumn’s famous
breeze has died; on my back, below the caged
fluorescents of the gymnasium, pull
knees to my throat and ache with my own want
for it. The leaves scampered in its silence
and I felt a little of their fear—just
enough, tingling with it. 7 a.m. comes.