Echo (A transmasculine poem)

by Eli Sobel

He speaks without being spoken to,
Another child grasping for permission to grow older,
Screaming into my mouth
In a cracked voice that no one ever got to tease.
I flinch at the echo of his unseen prepubescence
Against my rounded hips.
He springs from my forearms’ thickened veins,
A watchful alarm
In my figure-four sit, ankle atop knee,
That has been sounding for so long
I no longer hear him.


Eli Sobel (they/them): I write from my belief in the radically queer, the revolutionary blurring of binaries, boundaries, and expectations.