by Kai River Blevins
after Jacqui Germain
Tells me that I’ve spent enough time
antagonizing him, corrupting his divine
name, condemning the thinly veiled violence
in his bones.
He demands that I forgive
his unrelenting presence,
forbids me from saying all that I’ve learned
about him – like Man is the aftertaste of disgusted stares.
or Man comes alive when hardened fist meets pliant ribcage,
his laughter
exposed
by the sudden crack.
or Man says my mouth is a broken levee, my voice
an unwelcome flood (softly) wearing down
the fang of him.
or I know there is something powerful about queer blood.
Why else would Man be drawn like a rabid beast
to the iron of me?
or Man begs silently for the warmth of desire, for open arms,
for hands that no longer grasp at his throat.
or Man is a leech, a broken mirror, a wounded animal –
small and fragile and desperate and defeated.
or Man has turned my family against me.
Man has turned my family against me.
Man has turned my family against me.
or Man has turned my family against themselves.
or I was born into the hands of a doctor who sucked
Woman from my throat, filled my gasping
lungs with the drought of Man.
or I was born into the hands of a doctor who worshipped Man.
What chance did I have?