by Gabriela González
after Cheryl Boyce-Taylor
there was always someone
day-dreaming
hurtling towards the other world
falling for somebody’s son
grass-stained knees
weaving
in and out of love
condemning their mother tongue
twisting tradition
out of ghost tale
crossing an ocean
on a paper-mache boat
painting their nails black
dressed in robin’s egg blue
bright red gushing
between them legs
having a tea party
with a beast
mistaking a father for a prince
fathering the future from a question-mark
counting sheep
learning to read between the lines
reading limbs
shrouding their body in glitter
befriending the witch
within
making mud soup
under moonlight
drinking it all in
commending Mother Earth
bound by something soft
tender-hearted
beating on a kitchen pan drum
bruising their ego
begetting life in verse
crooning in arms
blessed
divinely
alive
Gabi González (she/they) is a queer poet and fiction writer of Afro-Caribbean ancestry born and raised in New York City. Her work investigates grief, lineage, queerness, and pleasure. She is currently based in Brooklyn, where she is employed as a social worker.