girl inside the fridge 

when i climb into the fridge
i am a girl. this confuses my family
because i am not a girl really
in the biblically accurate way but more in
the way that all mangos are girls.
alone (but not alone) i am so verdant  
in the fridge. 
no white hot light to make us have
to perform. sometimes i say "us"
when i mean "me." i am choosing
to not unpack that but really
sometimes i feel like
a little ant hill trying
to govern a gender. 
i love the fridge's cool dark.
the way the tofu speaks of sauce.
all the mismatched tupperware who hold
their breath. i could live several hundred lives
inside our fridge. watch the lettuce wilt
& turn horror. a dress of lemon bites.
get married to the eel over & over.
my gender gets thick & chewy. my gender
is like a pair of rubber boots.
inside the fridge i don't have
to have a government. inside the fridge
a crisper drawer can make promises 
that no one else can. "you are whole
& edible." thank you thank you.
when the door opens we all know
how to behave. smile. pose. hope
to stay. i have been living the doll house
severed wall life for as long
as i could remember. when i am really needing
a release i go to the back where the celery freezes.
there we get to be angels. my gender, gutted 
or butter. snow, creeping across our flesh
like scales. here i am glorious. a piece
of a star. my girl gender, a secret inside
my boy gender inside me elsewhere face.
i don't want to be real or maybe i do
& i just belong to the brief dark &
the hard boiled eggs. each, a harbored moon.
bellies full of bells.