pink

the geese have started carrying guns
to protect against the threat 
of another war. i found a doll in my mailbox.
it did not have a head. i did not know
if it was a threat or a cry for help. 
my neighbors turn into piles of salt.
my father talks of retiring & the politicians
wear pink & call it a protest. 
i find pink everywhere i look. on the sidewalk
& in my mouth. even in the fresh sun death.
i find a scorpion in my shoe.
i ask my doctor, "where will i get hormones
if this all goes down." he nods 
a few moments & tells me, "i don't know."
sometimes i dream of a slightly larger house.
one without cracked windows 
& without mold that blooms frequently
across all the walls, making maps
of planets i will never reach. i try to find
pink to hold onto. the tongue of the turtle.
the back of my own throat. i work hard
to not turn into a pile of salt.
the rain comes & soaks the firewood. 
i turn on the television to see a commercial
for berry dr pepper. a fridge full of cans.
a man drinks & drinks. his tongue is pink too.
i think of everything pink has given for us. 
switching genders & then getting called 
a deadly little moon. what an insult that was
to the color to put it on & do nothing.
there are ghost trees wandering in the ash 
of a terrible wind. i paint a single wall
in my house pink. let it hum. press
my ear to it & hear its lovely & vibrant scream.
the politicians have never listened
to something like this. i call their office 
& get a voicemail. leave a message,
press my phone into the wall. the empire 
is full of trap doors & hidden staircases.
none of them are for me. i have a spoon
& smell of wet earth after a storm.