TAM BLAXTER

ink on manuscripts, streetlamps, spotlight buzz and salt

i think back and my memory
fractures: three stems converge on me from three
seeds. i remember beat-and-limber, sun

bakes anxious joy in me, sun
forgets me of people, i’m salt. remem-
-ber tarmac and spit, smart and sting of three

times approaching their feet, three
retreats. remember sitting lonely, sun-
-gold streetlamp at last links up my memories.

remember being three: sun, blood, and me.

everythings forgotten

habits kill all sens of time.
lk gorging & sleepin\
thse dives in2 the body break
th day on2 itslf~ jst open the Is & ur

sum1else entirely. like
i cant remember tday cept as hall-of-mirrors\
fantasy of no wrds on th page & my mouth
movin silently movin silently.

lk i swear cant ever remembr being afraid~
i can only remember bein anxious &
anxious doesnt come w/th body-fright, th

             light-as-air, th
             face-tht-crwls-in2-itslf right
             there, rite in frnt ov u.           eat.      these r

the rites 2 mk memry crmple~these the
things im not talkin abt, evn as wer speekin. like
i cant remembr today cept as numbers n th screen\
things so far frm bodies i can

conjre thm @ will. like
i cant remember 2day
cept as climbin a tree, & th grate of bark-on-skin,
& th dizzy stop of lookin down—

conflicting thoughts

it’s difficult to know what to do
with my own trite bullshit sometimes.

in the trough-second of i’ll never be pretty
i could drink an ocean of salt/ yet

i can look on from somewhere
and sneer all the same: this

angst is a decade too young
for you, quit it and this

is what’s true, deserve it sit
alongside each other. there’s a moment

crossing the road and the wind
of a car empties the air, i’m light as it,

but it’s not the kind of thing can be
bottled\ sung. i sit (drunk) across

from a (drunk) friend and tell her
i’d just like you to be okay, and that’s

true as far as it goes. there’s a moment
at parties i can get caught

in the joy of being a human
next to other humans—moment all

skin and nervous laughter—when
this body does become human

but it’s not the kind of thing
you can teach\ sustain. even this far

inland i hear the sea abrading
sand/ the black open under the sky.

equinox

as when the year’s turning
at four twenty-eight precisely, she insists,
and our stepping into dark has slowed, stopped,
as when ugly yearning

to crack open the life, be brightening,
reaches its inflection point the dusk amid
crooked walls\ the boozy evening
becomes something lightening

and is gone. equinoctial bonfire
stutters and gasses, yeah we trust
this unsteadiness, we hold.
in the orange she’s our sunk all. desire

shouts and rages, we’re all spent.
when the light comes greyed
we still steady send a year’s hopes
the way all past years’ hopes were sent.

2 months on hrt

whn i was a kid i usd to think
why wlk when u can run, but thn

thas probably smthng we all remembr
w/feet in th chestnut earth

& gritted teeth. cording to twitter
scientists hv discoverd a drug

tht regrows teeth: u jst plant
white seed in th dark

of the mouth\ heres exhstd hope!
             like evry month i felled

this trans bdy/ its rise, bt then
100 reachin saplings shruggd

up in the night. on the way hm
i flex, wlk faster & so feel

the startin supplnss & on th way home
btwn the shadows of buildins

im luminous a moment in dusk. or this
chrstms, as i hug each gest

in wlcome, my breasts—invsbl
on this flat field of skin—strt to ache.

Tam(sin) is a poet, historical (socio)linguist and nb trans woman based in Cambridge, UK. She writes about anxiety, outer space, bodies, weather. Outside poetry, they work on language change in medieval Scandinavia and language change on twitter. She can be found on twitter @what_really_no.