Size / / /

Content warning:

When the time comes to split the gym,
brachiosauruses by the bleachers and gymnosperms
by the punch bowl, I creep to claim the broom closet,
bring just a flashlight and an alibi,
break past particle board protective backing
and enter the lungs of the school.

Here, I’m not the only insect breathing in bacteria
and breathing out whole communities.

I’ve seen kingdoms froth forth and fall in the space
between the spaces between the locker rooms;
I’ve watched the tired clock’s tick urgent
between the palms of leads and fronds and felt
the buzzing of the backboard pontificating
on the shortness of our tiny lives,
the way our shoes were sized
to help us find the closest cling
to fit, how we were never meant to wear them
til their fraying tags broke punch lines
in our heels, our bodies dripping red
and sweet and spiked onto the linoleum.

Haley Bossé is a queer, non-binary lichen fanatic and teacher of young children. Some of their poems are forthcoming in Vocivia Magazine, en*gendered Magazine, and All My Relations, while others continue to haunt the countryside. Befriend Haley on Twitter at @TalkingHyphae.
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8 Jul 2024

The statue of that gorgeous and beloved tyrant, my father, stands in a valley where the weather has only ever been snow.
Panic will come / for every fuckwitted one of us
Neural-lace, my brain interfaced
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