by Jennifer Hanks


My ghosts see me clearly as a charred tree line. I’m a cat in a surgery lab whose spine’s been
severed. I’m a boy with a vigorous hair flip. I’m a boy with burning hair & the cerulean eyes
of romance heroes. You’ve stopped believing me now, but the ghosts bring me super
soakers to fight the neighbors, long since gendered & grown up. You’ve stopped believing
me now, but I’m the one in the story with hands for eyes. The fir tree rustling with ash.
 
My bravest ghost splits open at the chest, offers me a duelist’s sword like we’re in an episode
of Revolutionary Girl Utena. You’ve stopped believing me now, but I’ll cut a Midnight Supreme
off your bustier. Toss my velvet hair and claim a scorched & empty win.