DYKE POETICS, OR THE IMPOSSIBILITY OF FUCKING IN A FIELD
by Erin Jin Mei O'Malley

“I took one look [at Molly] and fell, hook and tumble.” - Mary Oliver

Don’t tell me I’m alone
in my desire
                                                    to anonymously fuck people who look almost
                                                    exactly like me, this want

                                                                   for my hands to whittle away
                                                                   the word love from lover.

              Why does everything have to be about love?

I find it hard to believe
                                                     you’ve never looked
                                                     at a hot stranger and imagined
                your body
                                         on top
                of your body
                                         with their face without
                also imagining marrying them.

All I’m saying is that if 
enough women wanted me
for my body,
I’d want it, too. 
                                                        Isn’t that why men love their bodies
                                                                                    with their bodies?
               I bet it feels good
               to be in a park fucking a man while being seen
               by another, one who could hurt you
               both but instead, closes his eyes as if
               shutting a door. Stands there,
                                                                                                        in that unused dark
                                                                                                                      before walking away.
I think men are stupid
 but I’m afraid of what they do.
Their doing,                                                                                  which happens to me.                 
                                Take, for instance,
                                                                                           the distance between any two men, 
which is always a field
                                            they can return to but never really leave.
I could go there,
but I’d never come back.
​
               You know this, though.                                         So what if the heart
                                                                                                   wants what it wants?

The body just wants to live,

                                                        and you, like the field,
                                                                      wait so deeply you long.

​

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Erin Jin Mei O’Malley is a queer Asian adoptee writer who is based in New York and Arizona. They have received nominations for a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and Best New Poets, and their work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Nashville Review, The Margins, The Shade Journal, and others. They are an MFA Candidate at Arizona State University. You can find them @ebxydreambxy on Twitter.