In and Of the Milk

Oh mother, I can feel
its possibility still sticking
to my lips and fingertips:
that nourishment my
breast was designated
to give.
Yet I’m
in the pure milk
of genderfluid–
in the moonmilk
that flows through the dark
caves of my heart
and refuses to harden
into anything
Don’t worry, mother,
milk still flows
from me, it’s just not
what you expected–
such as when one digs
down to the stalk
on my pelvis, or caresses
the tender spot of meat
in my throat.
It’s surfacing is
always a surprise
to me, mother,
like the milky
drop of sap on a star
jasmine blossom’s
decapitated neck
that some child has
picked out of

Mx Glass lives in the East Bay and has xyr BA in Creative Writing from San Francisco State University. Mx is using xyr degree to find ghosts. Xe's recent publications are included in THEM: A Trans" Lit Journal and Counterexample Poetics.

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