Moving / on

Ashley Varela

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Never did I imagine leaving our house

The way I left it. Alone. Infested.

On the last day, I flea powdered

Both couches. Waited for the dust to settle.

Oiled and rasped my anklet of welts.

(So many mouths on my skin and none of them yours.)

In the larger chambers of our life — kitchen,

Garden — everything broken called me kin.

The warped spoon under the stove, the Star Wars vinyl

Distorted on its platter. Tomatoes skin-split by wildfire.

Even Ella Fitzgerald was crying, something about larks in spring.

Goodbyes and the gods that allow them.

Ashley Varela (they/them) is a queer writer & author based in Seattle, Washington. Find them on Twitter @ashleyvarela_.