Next time
by Slone Leman
It’s my favorite when she tells me that
“we must have met in a past life”
because I know she isn’t
imagining what I am.
The first time we met,
she was a little girl and I was the worm
getting cut into twenty-one pieces
by her mother’s credit card.
Twenty new heads
and twenty new tails ascending
not to new life, the gift she thought she was giving me,
but to the heavens,
leaving earthly myths and horrors behind
till next time.
Slone is a trans poet studying music in BC. Their work can be found in new words {press} and the Black Bear Review.