after Daniel Mallory Ortberg

“God blessed me by making me transsexual for the same reason God made wheat but not bread and fruit but not wine, so that humanity might share in the act of creation”

and here i am
staring at the crease in my elbow like i used to stare at his
and wondering what it was about men that made me one of them

the streets are slick with rainwater as i walk home
headlights gleaming in the puddles, my lips rose-red and stained glass
i steal another coke from the grocery store and wonder if you see the same clouds as i do

we hold ourselves out to one another like mirrors
and as the train rocks you gently onto my shoulder
my heart nestles further into my chest
my throat flooding as you kiss my neck goodbye

i have scars on my chest, others on my stomach
needles and scalpels, the story of a life told in the sharps container on my bookshelf
i call it necessity; you called it intention
maybe the truth is somewhere in between

and it is not that it is holy, but that it isn’t
that maybe this is simply the closest we can get from hell.
because i am nothing if not unfinished stories, a casualty of past selves
but you take my hand and we don’t talk about my cracked knuckles
and i no longer think of home as the place i can make myself smallest

and it is not that it is holy. it isn’t holy.
but i found a pair of wings in the back of my closet
and a scratch on my rib that looks like your name
so i will take the wheat and make bread
take the grapes and make wine
and i will hold this air in my chest and call the fallen leaves springtime.

max greenhill (he/him) is a high school senior (soon-to-be college student!) from new york city. aside from writing, he mainly rock climbs, works at the library, and dances really poorly around the kitchen while trying to help cook.