A POEM by AVERY YODER-WELLS

australopithecus

after wanda coleman’s “american sonnet # 54"

to my dearest:

can you believe two minutes are passed since

two minutes ago we spoke? last time your hair

made no curtains—you stared me in the palm like

a doorknob. prehistoric in your candor.

i’ve got cousins like nobody’s business but

my hair’s too short to love them. “i’m grabbing groceries,”

god said. “if the boys fight, girl, get between them.” and

after, i was too muddy to eat. left my name deep

in the backyard of transition as a missing link

for a million years without boys or cousins. but still

long-haired, still empty in the mouth.

in the kitchen we were kissing and you called

us lonely, no neanderthal neighbors. tracing star maps

for any last honest hominin. but girl, since this gets me

your hair in my palms in my kitchen—i’d still

change my name one more million times.

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Avery Yoder-Wells (they/them) is a trans and queer poet with two cats and stacks of unread books in the hallway. Their stuff can be found around the Internet if you're so inclined. They lurk on Twitter: @averyotherwise.