everything bagels are why i'm trans like this

my mom & used to go to the coffee shop
at the end of the world where only 
angels & college students ate each other's faces.
i would point to the wall & ask 
"what is that?" a crucifix made of hair.
she drank coffee the color of muted bark.
i ate an everything bagel with veggie cream cheese.
licked my fingers. a lesson in the perfect kind
of excess. poppy seeds under my nails.
the gardens that grew there in the days 
that followed. how i would taste the windows
each time a new little crimson face bloomed
my marrow. the urge to sleep every night
in a fresh layer of onion. my favorite part though
was the hansel & gretel of the afterward. the trail
of seed in the wild haunted wood. 
how i could always find my way back
to that brief communion. a plate. a mug of coffee.
the gossip of monsters & children. sesame seeds 
were once a currency in heaven you know?
an angel would come & tell me, "keep those
in case they're ever worth something"
gesturing to the stray ones on the glass table.
the thing is that being trans for me
has just about nothing to do with gender
& everything to do with everything bagels.
about what choices should be made
& which ones should be answered with,
"give us more." i knew even as a child
at the coffee shop with my mother
that I wanted to dust the stray seeds
from my palms each day. i wanted a trail
of flowers to burst in my wake.