By Chloé Allyn
I wonder Frances, will you love me?
This day has a bad
feeling, less bad than the last few days, Frances
because today I woke up thinking of you of waking up
to you in my bed but instead
there’s metadata & enemy lines in my mind
How do you suture the plot points together when
you don’t understand the language let alone story
how do I explain to my cat Plato’s Allegory of the Cave
when she chases the shadow of her toy instead. Can you
give a voice to a mind that doesn’t think in language?
Frances, how do words sound to you? I happened on
your haikus when we shared websites is that
what lovers do?
I’ve been accused of turning romance into stone
stealing shared time like a dragon, a little proof beyond
what is witnessed; what gets mixed up in the
bureaucracy of my mind; isn’t that just
another word for paperwork? Your memorials
of syllables, looking back, it’s a mirror. I’m not
jealous, as it was with me, only doubtful.
Look, I get it
The patriarchy has an embassy in my mind. Run by atomic
men & women filing paper work about what not to do.
Frances how do I write the story of loving you
of loving a woman,
a study of my very first fantasy
a quiet hideaway of hate. To craft a voice for
my own mind that thinks so strictly in this language
of who I’m not allowed to be.
Chloé Allyn is an Indigenous poet who writes of the natural world, love, and pleasure. Her work has been featured in WUSSY Mag, SCAD Connector and The Bastard's Review.
Art by Lois Emma Harkin