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Topographic Pupa -- poetry by Hazel Fry


I have started to peel.

My bone marrow liquefying with my words,

my breasts. And my fetus

has adopted me again, forgiven me

Melted us together, resentfully ready.


I peel in front of you:

hissing a laugh as your kaleidoscope eyes

investigate me. Map mountains, roads,

X marks over the wounded treasure on my chest—

You use my hatching as your permission slip to stare.


I am men's clothing on your woman’s body.

So, I window the wrinkle you search for

and when you watch how I crease

I can blame my breasts, and not my

nucleus.

The more of me you see

the less of me there is.


I am “other” or “prefer not to say”

or I am not on the list.

I will be the check mark in my own pencil drawn box.



Hazel Fry is a sophomore in creative writing at Ruth Asawa School of the Arts in San Francisco. They have loved spinning worlds through writing from a very young age. They have work published in Tiny Day, the smallest ever newspaper, and have performed their poetry at the Youth Art Summit in San Francisco. When Hazel is not writing, they can be spotted cuddling their three cats, holding their python, feeding their tarantula, or rescuing insects from being squashed.

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