we’d throw rocks at the
ice – the color of marbles
because that is a winter
pastime of boys who hold
one another. i used to go
to the pond and listen to
the pebbles skitter across
ice over water warbles the
sound of manipulated material
frictionless and cold heat was
nowhere to be found hands
were dry and cracked mud
was in the fingers and the ice
refused to bend or shatter
i’d ride my bike til
my knuckles turned
white and sandpaper
i used to press my
hand against the
window like maya
deren and pray for
a boy to knock on
my door asking if
i wanted to play?
i dared not be that
boy for any other boy
because deep down
i was a girl and girls
is the gender that
waits. it is suicide.
what is the shape of sleet?
sleet, sleek and sweet?
encapsulated a
dogwood bud in
its glassy drips
slipping solid on
sugared cemetery
solitary canary redbird winged hunger
robin’s flowerless nest
i am mad that you
think a tree is the
most beautiful thing
you have ever seen
have you even seen trees before?
i am mad at you for
the things you have
never done. one
last sleet covers
the ovening world
i refuse to reflect
on the time we spent
together. tenderless
and frieze-ridden,
what is it about
your ice tongue
that flicks my soul
ablaze?
Le Wermo (Trevor Bashaw) is a genderqueer poet and interdisciplinary artist currently living in Kansas City, Missouri. Their work investigates topics like art and everyday life, sound and atmosphere, desire and memory, and queer ecology. They work as a barista and librarian.
Snarl 