when i came out as trans
a family member told my mother
that kind of thing is caused
by distant mothers.
we purchase the oldest tv
& find a colony of rabbits inside.
only, they are only the size
of thumbs. leave the tv in the yard.
static. mosquitos. gems of blood.
i measure distance in licorice
& my mother has always been
just a rope away. ants come
& try to eat our bones.
love is not the thing that heals
but the thing that comes
from the healing.
again my father is
the artist & spends his whole summer
in the yard carving faces into the trees.
i am often in love with objects
but not in a captialtism-will-make-me-whole
kind of way but more like
this object is alive. haven't you ever seen
a tea cup winking? a garbage bin grimace?
as a child i had so many mothers
& none of them were distant.
the staircase who, when i was alone,
sun like piano teeth. the kitchen table
rife with glorious stains,
promising to give my pig tails.
i am encircled by the dreams
of table saws & cheap paint brushes.
the staircase is taller every single day.
i measure distance in moments
it would take for us to start
a fire here in the middle
of the house. i would say,
"we need this to survive"
& the microwave would say,
"blessed be" & my mother & i would
find a song that could be sung
buy both of us by the flames.
our flipbook shadows. my gender
a pair of scissors to run with.