Two Poems — mk zariel
vestige
i cannot find wisconsin on google or in my soul
nor do i want to. milwaukee fades like greyed-out photographs
moves like water, recedes—even the small towns known for sports
for white guys, the backdrops of family ghosts, falling leaves, haunting
every vignette. can i transition for you? become the last vestige of life
this blaze-orange memory of what was. my friend texts me that
she can't make it out here this year
due to being in portland—she apparently did not know how far it was
despite having access to google—she wonders if milwaukee
is in oregon. wonders if every city is a carbon copy of the next
wrapped in the silver film of twitter, of transaction—infighting and desire
trampled on like suspiciously yellow snow, like dark wood
like watching your gender drown
in the great lakes you once belonged to. she wonders
if the world is liminal—the only reality nestled in the corners
of her trans mind. i have to agree. so your body is trans
and mine is a map of the isthmus
i am bent at the edges only here through the displaced
through greyish waters that linger on the borders
of reality and satellite images green and grey and faded
just because you find madison tiny, insular doesn't mean
you can't disappear in her.
no thanks (a seasonal poem)
there's no coming-out story like announcing your gayness
in a room full of other people's plastic plants, manufactured
autumn leaves, food that takes two days to cook but two minutes
to inhale rather than making small talk. your dad accuses me
of being an edgy middle schooler with a cartoon bomb
because that's the only thing he thinks of when he thinks
of anarchy, and all i can give thanks for is deep breaths,
contrived self-care apps, and the possibility of silence
in about a week. like the pumpkin spice and oranges and reds that
will inevitably be replaced by a perfect storm of the commercial
during which i always wonder what's more awkward—
anti-imperialist theory at the dinner table, or explaining pronouns
to anyone ever—and then decide that i, the only trans individual
alive for the time being, am the cause of all interpersonal conflict—
like stuffing and overdressed salad, i contain
every allergen in existence—
mk zariel (it/its) is a transmasculine poet, theater artist, movement journalist, & insurrectionary anarchist. it is fueled by folk-punk, Emma Goldman, and existential dread. it can be found online at https://linktr.ee/mkzariel, creating conflictually queer-anarchic spaces, and being mildly feral in the great lakes region. it is kinda gay ngl.