Three Poems by Daze Jefferies
Daze Jefferies is a poet, experimental musician and academic living in St. John’s, NL. Her work explores the intersections of folklore, health and gender among two particular populations, trans people and sex workers. She is currently looking at issues of mobility, solidarity, auto/biography, and post/memory within the trans communities of Newfoundland and Labrador. You may preview and purchase her two collections of poetry, TESTO SLAVE and SEESAW WITH THE SPEAR, at www.payhip.com/fornicating
NIGHT ISLAND
not seasick
is ya?
i’ve heard
three times
already
since i
went back
to the
radical,
the harbour
where
bad things
happen
if you are
anything
like me
you might
find
black lops
on lops,
and lips that meet
each other for
the first time
at the night island
lighthouse,
pitiful
cenotaph
when the
life vest
comes off
i think about
alkalinity
how easy
it is to
take away
i know that
rachel bryk
would get it
when i tell
my dad that
sooner or later
we are all
going under
he says that
shit floats
it’s shallow there
somewhere, see
YODELAYHEEHOO
this time
of year
we used to
travel:
no-way to get out
of the kampang,
no-way to fund
that surgery,
no-way to
really make
me laugh now
yodelayheehooing
we think back to
the peripheries
our tongues
have run
along
the stranger who
liked to plant
kisses on
dry skin,
filled maracas
with poisonous
seeds,
left peanuts out for the
chick-with-a-dick-a-dees
whose stilettos were
caught on branches
backyard feeders,
loose women
even
the virus
wants to
take hold
fast
it knows
a simple
touch
doesn’t
have the
power to
redefine
intention
to
pull down
the skirt for
an august
jackabaun
who is sorta
missable
if we can
mind the
time
if the heart
is fire,
how can we
snuff it out?
if your sister
is frail,
why would
you split?
she was
born here
and she
wants to
die here,
and so do i
SEESAW WITH THE SPEAR
Previously published in the poetry collection SEESAW WITH THE SPEAR available here.
on the train
that leaves
you
behind
i sit next
to a window
that shows me
worlds
merging
into each other
francois
is beside
me reading
muriel rukeyser
he believes
that change is
an illusion
that even if
we never
develop,
we still
won’t perish
we just
disperse
i want to tell him
it’s too early to cry
but i fall asleep
when i find
myself at a
support group
for the first time
i feel daylight
again
when i see
lord snow
in the plateau
i learn that
liquid methadone
does not
forgive
as far as love
is concerned
we are meant
to keep
waiting for
the unknown
under a
fig tree
to transgress,
repeat the
mistake
one
of us
must
agree
that it’s
too late
for
certain
things,
call off
the Q&A
when
we sweat
off our
brows
someone
leaves marks
and calls me
inarable,
always
indentifiable
i want to know:
if the water
shuts off
we will reel
around the
fountain?
are we
ever
cut out
for
the shit
we learn?
i look away
from the
eyes that
want to
see me
i only know
your smile
from the
other side
of the screen
when all these
places i love
show me that
my transness is
intersectional
i want to
believe them
when you help
me write this
story with flesh
i want things to
come to an end
sit up
again
call your
mother
seesaw with
the spear
that hurts me
i won’t find
repletion in:
beginnings,
social
theories,
the sweetness
of cauliflower
i won’t
feel
guilty
as i
gently
walk
back
and forth
across
a grave
i won’t
know
how to
define
loveable
without
hands
that run
all over
but i will
learn to
get up
when
the life
inside
you
widens
as you
reach,
shocks me
when we
touch,
teeters
when i
begin
to know
you
if the moment
i knew i was
a woman
was touchable,
how would
it feel?
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