1 David’s body becomes survival
And he drives to North Carolina.
2 His boy body births itself
In the spring swan song of it.
3 Shows himself corn ghost, all husk.
I bury myself in the silk of him
And chigger death slow.
4 I’ve never let my Daddy be a man.
Only a house. Only a room.
5 He hasn’t let me live in him
Since the first time I left: a
6 Holy gunk of half my cells.
He did not give me what I needed
Then, so I birthed daughter,
7 Never agreeing, wanting only to be
Of his sage, orange, a slight cedar
8 Something to slam my body into, to
Be welcomed. The barely open door
of him not open at all, chain locked.
9 I sleep outside of him. I sleep in
Provincetown. I dream of something
Easy and simple and good.
10 In this dream it is August and
David says to me, “You are my son;
Today I have become your father.
11 Only ask, and I’ll come out to you,
And we will dance as boys together
In the river behind Imogene’s house
12 To the sound of Jerry Lee Lewis,
And the smell of snakes.”
13 But I wake up and it’s July again,
And the house David was
14 Is gone, but everyone I ask
Remembers it was around here,
15 Somewhere, and around back,
There are still tomatoes and
16 My boy body births itself
In the summer of it.
Kasey Clark is a trans poet from the South. They’ve worked for AS220 in Providence and ArteSana in Holyoke, and write interviews with Vagabond City Lit. Tweets @octupiwallst