I'm six or seven and dreaming that I'm a boy.
I emerged out of the water and went into the garden
with a small silver hand between my thighs
Later, in the shower, I see a boy naked.
He is contagious, and I can feel mine.
I was told not to stare then,
but my eyes have never been larger,
in and out of my body, my stare kept growingI guess that's what's called flesh memory.
Oh, how I wanted to tell him that we had switched places!
In my dream I'd had him on me,
but I didn't that day when I told her
the dog was a wolf and the rock was a cliff,
and you're a horse! I said,
if the dog was a wolf and I a boy
she could be a horse, sure thing, she had no excuseAnd we were running then, horse and wolf and girl,
braces on her teeth like a bridle, a bride, a bridle.
I felt tight against supple, cool against hot, wires and skin. I've always been like thisSomedays I feel like my body is straightened,
held up by thin braces, metal spires embrace my spine,
my face, my cunt. I can feel myself from above,
but I can't see who's holding them.
It would be easy to think about submission,
but I don't think it's about submission,
it's about holding and being held.