a literary magazine.
home for the holidays
home for the holidays
crumpled blankets and
strangely lucid dreams,
piled in the corner of
your childhood bedroom.
home is where the shower runs
warm, and the oven burns
gas, and you agree to eat eggs
so that no one will get mad at you.
your sister is a black belt now.
your father will no longer drink
at the dinner table. your mother
remains smooth stone
that will never grind to sand.
the town centre is exactly where
you left it.
your nose starts bleeding
on the third floor of Waterstones
and suddenly you are back
to hacking up your lungs
for the stain of broken bones
and wondering why your
hypochondria
is so synonymous with
home.
this body
scares you shitless
with every stab
and ache.
you take off your
chlorine-stained
binder for the day,
picturing the ribs
stitching back together
beneath the skin.
on the inside,
everyone is equally terrifying.
your insides are a minefield.
your insides are Flanders in bloom.
your insides are a swan dive
in your ex’s parents’
bathroom.
you know the things
you can’t control
will one day be the death of you.
you’re cutting your hair
in the sink again.
you’re waiting for the doctor
to call you.
this house,
this body,
this bedroom -
they never change,
no matter how much growing up you do.
sure, this safe loves you.
this same loves you.
this unchanging loves you.
but at what cost?
you make the bed.
you take the shower.
you poke at your ribcage
beneath the spray
and wait for the train
to rattle you home
again.
Bio: Mikey May (he/fae/xe) is a queer trans man poet, linguist, and trainee teacher whose work explores language, sex, trauma, and faith. His self-published zines on gender and Taylor Swift can be found at mikeymay.itch.io. His work is forthcoming in Marías at Sampaguitas, The Open Culture Collective, and Paper Milk.