Sean Patrick

Sonnet for a shell

This body is a poor and shabby shell;
I wish I’d shed it like a hermit crab
and move into another that fits well,
perhaps in years to come there’ll be a lab
to grow the me I’ve wanted for so long –
new skin, new eyes, new hips, new breasts, new hair,
a body healthy, supple, fair and strong.
When I’m reflected in a mirror there
is someone else looking into my eyes,
subservient to his anatomy –
and though I know he desperately tries
he cannot bring himself to live in me.
Until the day that new shell can be grown,
this body’s made to rent and not to own.

Sonnet for a complex gender

I’m not sure what would make me a real man;
I’m confident that I don’t fit the bill.
I don’t believe that someone had a plan
for who I am. I’m sure I never will,
though long I’ve wondered if – as with the puppet
old Geppetto made – I’d somehow call upon
a fairy to enact my wish. Not yet
have I found manhood sold; merely the con
of rank machismo and its toxic airs.
I’d be a man if it came to my parts,
but I’ve met women with them, too – who cares?

Perhaps we can infer a path from charts
of number i – as with a root complex –
a gender that’s orthogonal to sex.

Sean Patrick is a scientist and sonnet aficionado. Their work has previously appeared in Grand Little Things, UniVerses, Blue Unicorn, and Lavender Lime Literary.