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1 poem

by Liam Strong

Liam Strong is a transgender-non-binary writer studying English at University of Wisconsin-Superior. They are the former editor of NMC Magazine. You can find their work in Impossible Archetype, Painted Cave, Dunes Review, Clementine Unbound, Monday Night, IDK Magazine, and The 3288 Review.

trans boys turn orange in the limelight

Note: It is not recommended to view this piece on a mobile device due to its unique formatting.

in the heart of traverse city              —which is a crosswalk—


a dog leaned away from its owner   sniffed my crotch


looked me up &



didn’t stick out his tongue or wagged his tail to        the rhythm of people


i jaywalked across the street and waited for the light to turn again


i think the golden apples of streetlamps bear


cold witness to illegal acts of misrepresentation   man shits behind the exchange boutique


                                                                                      man says he had nowhere else to go


                                                                                      man catcalls trans student across Front Street


                                                                        trans student changed their gait, swapped coats


                                                                        trans student transpired into a ghost again


i think the snow encrusts a road into a flush sidewalk           where trans people are only visible


            when you give them light to silhouette a body           but                  

                                                                                                                   the body is null;

                                                                                                                   the body is null;

                                                                                                                   the body is null;

                                                                                                                   the body is null;


i think i am from a small country surrounded by swathe     i think i am from a place where


                                                                genitalia lilts from vines         i think i am from


a culvert where the slop of my body finagled with the jeans of my parents


i think i am      a very small place       the light from here is fading from whatever was      


            not                   i think we are small                 but no light crawls      in

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