Bodies like Mine in the Louvre
Andie Sheridan

There will be glory built in wide, dirty strokes on my canvas. Stretching cotton around the rigid wooden pectorals. Charcoal etchings for myself in all different caricatures. People will stop and stare at the fern leaves hanging from each armpit, humming in disbelief. Are there drains on that body? And draining what? The fatty deposits themselves are alright, but their absence leaves them aghast, pushing purebred pitbulls in strollers to rush away to more beautiful portraits. Where Cubism made concrete doesn’t inspire self-instruction.
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What is left weeps saccharine tears. The multimedia of a multimedia life has no place in these moldy Palisades. It must create a new thunderous canon. Where tattooed relief makes a fine foreground for a seance. Exposed brick for an immaculately composed dream. I crawl out of the wormhole in the plaque next to my installation, ask astonished viewers if they have any questions.

Andie Sheridan (Pomona '21) is a Chinese-American genderqueer poet exploring trans rebirth as well as transracial adoption in creating new worlds, new bodies, new words.