eyes green as jolly ranchers

we sneak into your parents’ room, couples’ retreat brochure on the bedside table, illustrated Kama Sutra in the dresser drawer. on their expanse of cotton sheets, we hold hands, your fingers skim my thigh. we watch a made for TV movie, a man and his newborn wait for rescue in a frozen cave, their toes turning gray. the baby is hungry, the man has to feed her from his own flat chest. you tuck a tag back into my t-shirt, brush my impossible hair. downstairs, your father lays new carpet on the living room floor. his head is a robin’s egg, so smooth and bright we can hear it shine. on your birthday, he hangs a rocking horse from the ceiling, says it’s your childhood flying away. back in your bedroom, we play Concentration, practice handstands, say words we aren’t supposed to say. soon, it will be over. we will be forced open, to unfurl like flowers if anyone should ask. by your front door, a tiny tree grows orange fruit, hard and round. i pick one as i leave, hold a segment in my mouth for hours. this cold jewel. this hidden piece.

griffin epstein is a non-binary white settler from NYC (Lenape land) working in education and community-engaged research in Toronto (Dish with One Spoon/Treaty 13). They have been featured in Glad Day's Emerging Writers Series, and their poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in CV2, Grain, The Maynard and Plenitude, among others. griffin is the author of so we may be fed (Frog Hollow Press disability series, 2021), and member of the experimental videogame collective shrunken studios. They develop multimedia work with poet Shannon Quinn and multi-disciplinary artist bryan depuy.