next to me
slumbering mom
under mounds of cotton
moon phase tank
askew on her sunken shoulder
I can feel dad
in the living room
jealous kettle
wanting to bond
from inside his masculinity
dark, gray eyebrows
thickened animal
said he felt sad
hugging me
before the surgery
& now
he projects
his quivering
discomfort
with my body
on to
my body
& suddenly
my body
is the sharp point
between us
wall of salt
electric mass
a numb expanse
of thin tingle
& spasm
pulling
the wires
of me
further away
from him
but somehow
resemblance
thickens
& still
I reject men
their steel tears
biting back
shadows of feel
I am a red
blooming knot
on a tree
with no code
no way
to say
a slow drip
between two people
I don’t know
how to unlock it
his love
that is
his love
without gender
the stain
that brought me here
the mark
that won’t come out
Mud Howard is a queer, trans poet who fiercely believes in the healing power of the selfie. Mud currently does editorial work for RADAR Productions and is a former graduate of the IPRC’s Poetry Certificate Program. RADAR Productions curates a monthly queer poetry feature called GLOW and their work can be found in international publications such as The Lifted Brow. As romantic slut, femmeboy, and astrology fiend living in the Bay Area, Mud is just trying to make it through the seasons, one mercury in retrograde at a time.
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