A Book Is A Spell
How can I learn to create a tangible object that will weave together an experience for someone else at a place and time I may never see?
Finn Schubert
My Great-Grandmother's Scrapbook
I traveled to my aunt’s house in Rochester, NY this weekend to scan my great-grandmother’s scrapbook. Those who have been reading for a while know that I can barely drive, and so a four-hour drive is quite substantial for me, quite frightening. But I felt it needed to
On Being a Real Writer
I suppose I spent so long worrying about being a real man, or even a real trans man, that I haven’t found much time to worry about being a real writer.
I am a man who doesn’t have a cock. In fact, I am a man who has
Containment
Menstrual products, chest binders, and power.
Death Workshop
We speak of what we want
in our next life, the lacks in this one.
More adventurous, one says. More kind.
I say, I wish I’d spoken up more.
We draw line charts
of our fulfillment over time.
Then she says close your eyes,
picture your own death.
We
Pretending
For a while my mouth didn’t close
and I had to eat pizza with a fork.
This is where people interrupt and say
what do you mean, your mouth didn’t close?
and I take my two hands, wrists together,
fingers apart, and show how my jaw
closed in
At the Gynecologist
What makes me cringe isn’t
saying how many men I’ve fucked
or lifting my shirt to reveal
hairy breasts that she—trans-competent—
resolutely only calls “chest.”
It’s what slips out when
she presses powdered-latex fingers
into the flesh over my heart:
“I kind of want to try