When he said he hang
by Zefyr Lisowski

​When he said he hung—like flower wilt heavy on granite headstone—when he said he hanging—flags dangle from windowsills on war anniversaries—when he hooked—his arms grab my stomach as if it were a present. It’s Thanksgiving, I am eighteen and the first I spend away from home, heaped snow against frosted panes. The mountain road closed to all access. What’s the word for the space between a caress and a sore, that’s where I shored myself into his arms like a reef. He didn’t wear a shirt, but gave me a bathrobe the whole weekend (I wake up and he on top of me) we eat frozen pizzas together (I’m very forceful he says) I call my mom later that night (I don’t sleep)            Yes, things are going well             I’ve made so many friends               I miss you too I’m not changing too much, don’t worry
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​Zefyr Lisowski also goes by Zef and is a trans artist and writer based in NYC. A staffer for Apogee Journal, her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Bone Bouquet, DIAGRAM, Hobart, and other magazines. Zef’s the author of the microchap Wolf Inventory (Ghost City Press, 2018) and a 2018 writing resident at Sundress Academy for the Arts. She’s currently an MFA candidate at Hunter College and lives online @zefrrrrrrr.

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June 2018