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the airplane didn't crash but she landed in a graveyard anyway
Andie Sheridan

the air draws her  
in as she was born
of it rather than a legacy
of blood sacrifice family
she has been afraid of the color yellow
ever since she can remember
her hips are shriveling in  
around curving in between without
touching
a bud which might’ve  
otherwise been subjected to infanticide


who is to tell her
where
she buried two lilies in their prime
the pale petals  
stay in her hair  
when she kisses  
her white mother on the cheek
surely her veins  
give her away when she is angry  
no one falls asleep faster  
than she does


the diaspora will pull  
her apart
by her eyelids  
the fullness  
of her lips the plague
in five tones of shame
she has no home no place
to cut her  
fingernails she has no
womanhood perhaps  
it is why she loves the flowers

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

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