She said yes to herself and got herself a mirror to match. Legs triggered miracles that skimmed on another yes and another and another and another like bits of shale skip on a lake. Her sheets were oily, but also sweet, and pictures of her mother sat still in disbelief, like a cat on its last observable day. Do I really need to look at those things, she thought? No, I don’t. I don’t need to see.
YOU COMING OUT TODAY?
An angel, she thought, and thought, today’s my day. You coming out today, and today as who? Girl in transition, imagine it’s you. Imagine you as one old, one new. And which one shows up on that stage? What name, what rhyme, what faith, what voice, what — ?
GIRL, call ME!
A closet full of two.
YOU DON’T CALL I’M coming OVER!
Kind of flesh new.
