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I store my gender in the top drawer
and the hummingbird outside applauds.
There isn’t enough of me to go around.
My fiancé puts the dishes away. The laundry
seeks to be dealt with. My no-gender
solicits an afternoon stroll in the park.
The drained trees ask me to remember
all my siblings who have died.
I imagine my fiancé’s hands.
How do you feel no longer being a boy?
I don’t think I ever was a boy.
I grieve the thought of never knowing.
We have lost so much. I have died
too many times. Everyone who has died
at the hands of others, of themselves,
of this world, I imagine alive.
Their nails are the color of the living.
They wear life in the seams of their dance.