Photo by Albert Antony on Unsplash
When I sit on top of Mount _______
I'm waiting for the UFO's. But you don't
know that. You don't know
Anything. What you know is what you knew.
What you knew is all you know. Surely you could reach for the droplets of me on the
floor
under my shoes, if you wanted to
You let the ocean of me overwhelm the tributaries of your puddle
as you remind me I do to so many, and all those in the past
You used to know
my ability to fill others up with emptiness, like those times we used to share a baguette
for breakfast with coffee.
Elegance staining your teeth an even deeper shade of tactile brown
your tongue gliding across wet and pointed surfaces
I sit on the mountain and wait. I'm reading Camus and planning a future where I'm not
such a liability
Until then, the UFO's will have to do.
Laura LeMoon is a Queer, fat, femme writer and author. Her essays and activism have been featured in Rolling Stone, Huffington Post, AP News, Buzzfeed News and others. Her debut book of poetry, A Thousand Little Deaths (Weasel Press 11.03.20) was named one of the most anticipated book releases by Lambda Literary. She lives in Seattle with her three-legged rescue pup, Coco Bean.