Focus
I sit, straight-backed,
Femorphous, for the first time in my life.
I am more beautiful than I have ever been,
spine in place of a sweep of hair.
The reading is a poem about dying,
and the sea, that great eldritch broth
that boils up Hermaphroditus,
throws forth Venus,
a silken tie, blood moon-drawn,
a tether, I was born wearing
it around my neck like the umbilical cord,
legs too weak to kick the chair out.
Primordial sea, starless, aged as a god,
offers history in ribbons, empires as tokens,
and I am drawn to Eve with my toes in the water
as I test.