Spectre of Old Self
Where will I put my hands in the evening light? Towards the bungalow of weathered moths that are collecting in this last summer moon of ours.
I could put them in the catch of marching fears
I keep near the bed. Or, with my mother’s wink.
The evening light is beckoning, calling like a wet stone of longing, to crack the bones, to leave you like freshwater. & I am moving across a river to somewhere only the evening light touches, softly.
is a queer, black playwright, poet and performer from Austin, Texas. Their poetry has appeared in Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, Underblong, Mr. Ma’am, apt, and Cosmonaut Avenue among other journals. Maiden, their debut poetry collection, is out on Vegetarian Alcoholic Press. They earned an MFA from the Michener Center for Writers. You can find more about them at travisltate.com