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Care Crawls Down the Sky
Andie Sheridan

I cannot be home where I am. I belong with the viscous sun. Swollen open.
Careening towards you even as the candles on each arm are stumped out.

There cannot be brakes on how much everyone wants us both to live.
Your cresent-face, I long for it like margarine. Even in the best scenarios,

the salt-aire itself has it cut out for me. I don’t know how to find radicalism
without blistering every inch of a sauntering summer. Slivering every

chance we get. And you are there to steal the cost of staying.
Watching me slip yellow from the chair. I should be stronger for you,

I just don’t know how. Crawling down the sky when I fail and I see you
cry in sympathy which only hurries my slick-crescendo away.

Can you be sure of the spot where I fell for you. Squeaking my way
into the sea-crash so you can see how much I cleaved the image. Choking
​
on how much I wanted to save us. Checkmate because I know you
cared but I was the one who spluttered, cresting. I left home to calm you.
​
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. 

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