“I tried to concentrate on who I was before I became no one.” –Roxane Gay (from “An Untamed State”)
Before, there were no roots. No deep breathing. Breaths just arrived naturally like high fives and appetite.
Before, there were no secret entryways carved out into closet walls. No scooping out of innards. Because then, everything seemed intact.
Before, there were no pronoun discrepancies. No body dysmorphia dislocation elocution elasticity. Because then, gender was pronounced in ink without eraser tip.
Before, blood was just blood. Gathered inside body like footnotes.
Before, breasts were waited on. Welcome mat in place for slightly delayed arrival.
And then. And then. Statements became questions and questions became concerns and concerns became diagnoses.
After…. there is still room for footnotes and nests to form in the crevices where the echoes are hushed. And all of this becomes just another poem. Another shout.out. Another misread op ed.
Or. An opening. For what arrives later on.