by Caelan Ernest
The birds, their hum. It’s inevitable. I thought maybe it was rain, the strange music, the solitary disco, but nothing seems to be dancing. It is far too early to be dancing. Time warp, I thworp within it. Wet, flapping at the mouth, and the last thing I need is more water. My tongue has become a safe-haven for the plovers— each bud a sprite with cooling salt the swans like to dip their wings into. Shed gray-feather, darling, call everything your swan song from the bird bath to the feeder and pretend you were never the ugly duckling dancing alone. ____
Caelan Ernest is a nonbinary poet, performer, and thingamajig living in Brooklyn, NY. Their work has been published or is forthcoming in WUSSY Magazine, Hayden’s Ferry Review, BAEST Journal, We Want It All: An Anthology of Radical Trans Poetics (Nightboat Books, 2020), The Poetry Project’s House Party, The Felt, and more. They hold an MFA in Writing from Pratt Institute. They are Director of Publicity at Nightboat Books. Hit them up on social media: @transputation.