Seagull, Tiny

Poetry by Jos Charles
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Read/listen to the artist's interview here

the villagers are

in their booths at
boston market

the boys living on

and talking about

and memory the
united states

is the collective
process of

demanding feelings
and a certain

memory i would live
on synthetics

but i hate fragility
Lonely and afraid,

my women sing, there
is no father

in me they talk about

a limit allows there
is hope

of forgiveness, but
my american

corpse has been such
a disappointment

i would live on
feeling safe

and spilling secrets
it is confusing

the plain people

like potato blossoms
when i first

met a trans person at
age 7

she served us mashed

at boston market
mother winced

and statistically it’s
unlikely she

kept the job
i am worthy

of eating food i tell
myself there

is some hope of

for boys i would live
on their plastic

it is confusing that
words trick us

“Seagull Tiny”, appears in Charles’ collection Safe Space through Ahsahta Press and an earlier version was featured on The Feminist Wire. “Seagull Tiny” is reprinted here with the author’s permission.