I.

I never smelled like a girl
and now I smell 

wholly unfamiliar-
and this is life now.

I want to assign weight
to the ceaseless ache in my hips.

This is middle-age

how morning  and mourning 
feels at the ball joints.

II.

See? 
There-
In the distance-

Are they clouds,
a mountain range,
or a forest?

I can’t wait
to walk through the open 
palms of aspen,

eye to eye with the trunks,
rooted and reaching
for this summer storm.

We are staring 
at the vanishing point
and still, 
I pulse, race for them.

They could be all three.
Either way,
My heart aches.

I ache, regardless.

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Prompt

All poets know how inextricably gay the moon is—many of us dedicate whole, joyously queer books to the absolute gayness of the moon. The gay moon is an honored fixture in our tomes. But what about mountains, man? Write a poem about mountains. Bonus points awarded if it’s very, very queer.

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Kit Steitz is a poet in Columbia, Missouri. Their work has appeared in The Ivy Review, Moist Poetry Journal, the lickity~split, and JAKE. They enjoy writing poems while fending off slobbering puppies and geriatric ginger cats.