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Writer's pictureEmily Corwin

Dean Symmonds

alternate names for crazy queer girls

after Danez Smith

1. heat lightning churning in midnight’s gut

2. copper-laced kisses in garages, school bathrooms, dreams

3. pomegranate chapstick smudged on sweet teeth

4. choked-back windchime laughter

5. gods of violets rooted in graveyard dirt

6. shame like lead lacquer dripping off your tongue

7. coughing up boys’ knuckle rings for breakfast

8. father’s worst fear

9. wedding veil buried in a backyard fire pit

10. life expectancy of 30

11. the most popular porn search in america

12. misnamed headstones

13. mother’s mistake

14. six feet under your girlfriend

15. confused fire that escapes the hearth and scorches the home

16. snowmelt rivers bloated with dark, dark hair

17. rapemeat for ash-mouthed boyfriends

18. a horde of star-shimmer girls who stick knives in their bellies before the boys next door can, root around until they hear clink of stone on metal, dig a river rock out of the viscera, name it terror, name it hope, name it accursed, name it love, name it after themselves and either bury it in the yard, knowing its liquid lead will crawl into their water tanks anyway, or swallow it whole.

go get dead, angel face

tenderfooted, i chop wood at midnight,

cleaving bark from tinder like flesh

from back. you, hardy man, you.

girl-beguiler. gold-bragger. hands

as cold as this axe. shoulders

so broad, a doe could lay herself

and her fawns between them,

velvet-antlered and dreaming

on a bed of moss and ribcage.

you and your quiet eyes

de-witched me: i put away

my cast-iron for you; forgot

the moon’s language; burned

all my effigies in one pit;

buried my silver knives out back

like limp dogs or dead children.

i’d named them, too. daddy—

titan—you’re just too big to fall

at the hands of girl-children;

know all our canary-voiced ways.

you threw my shoes on the fire

so i could only walk between the bed-

room and the porch. sweet-god,

you raised a woman, a witch. i crawled

on my hexed knees to the woodpile, hefted

your axe, and started swinging: a practice,

a relearning. at dawn, i will lay the blade

at your throat. i will spit your last rites

in my witches’ tongue. the sun will rise early,

just for me.



Dean Symmonds is a Southern lesbian poet. Ze works as a Poetry Editor at Persephone's Daughters. Zir poems have been published in magazines like Monstering, Crab Fat Magazine, Gravel, and The Album, and are forthcoming from Lavender Review and Bad Pony Magazine. You can find zem on Twitter @poetpersephone.

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