by David Hanlon
after ANOHNI
They strip the enamel from me
with acid-slick taunts,
leave my molars full of hollows,
unleash shadows and ice
deep in my shifting veins—
until biological sex
chills the blood
of any self-sistering.
It narrows the school corridors
into titanium needles,
stitching slurs into skin and soul—
vines sprawling stubborn.
It took more than ten years
to cut through the overgrowth
toward a canopy of self.
And there—
I pluck rotting ivories,
one by one, like brown leaves,
unleash the tardigrade of queerness.
Look at me now—
toothless as a six-year-old,
ready for my real, my true—
my permanent smile.
David Hanlon is a poet based in Cardiff, Wales. His work appears in numerous magazines and journals, including Rust & Moth, Anthropocene, and trampset. His latest collection, Dawn’s Incision, was published by Icefloe Press.
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