Lineage by Kell Hagerman
after my grandmother congratulates me
for the skilled weaving of my mind,
which shows up in money from scholarship funds,
I want to ask her what I was like as a child, before gender
spread like smog
over the memory of my body.
gender is the porcelain shoe on her windowsill,
pink & monogrammed with the ghost of a girl.
I want to ask my mother, was I what you expected?
was there wild in my tiny-fisted anger?
I swallow constellations of signs with all their dark
space intact. my new shape,
painted on the walls; a cautious tessellation
of this rude tomb of a mind.
tell me, grammie, do you think I’ll be okay?
were my drawings in the carpet pile prophecy enough?
Kell Hagerman is a non-binary writer who likes dandelions, books, and arthouse film. Kell has worked with juice journal and Emerge Literary Journal, and has been published by Stone of Madness Press, juice, Elsewhere, and Whiny Femmes. He lives in Treaty 1 territory. He can be found on Twitter: @icebox_clouds.