Performed by Crescent Malavet and Emily Gear. Words by Emily Gear. Received “Best of Hampshire College” Five College Student Film and Video Festival. February 2018
she asked me to be a mother
i asked her
could i be a sister the friend
a waiting boy a waiting brother
someone else someone new
someone who found out
before receiving the first clue
the sun a son a son
longing for a label maker so he can
punch out the word girl and
place it on his head
his forehead shiny and covered by hair
a child you child
the deer the fawn
who is running along the trees
of the left side of my yard
his spots her spots
a series of bouncing lines and dots
a white tail wagging deer
a white flag waving out of fear
my land your land
the land that is crying
a bird who can cry out
a bird that can tell us
the cuckoo is lying
and that is why we are dying
our cheeks blue as the sky and the sea
our teeth green like the spinach we eat
and we keep and we keep and we keep
forgetting to breathe out and
forgetting to breathe deep
forgetting to forgive
the ones who couldn't quit
and we are dying
our shoulders with orange peels
the kind of smell that makes your/my heart
squeak and squeal
i am not one who kneels
i am not one who asked to be here
or to bear you
a he
a hymn
a child who isn't scared to sing
a patient fellow orange cheeked and
pacing fellow
his bars his seeds cornered himself
waiting to breathe shredding himself
shredding streamers pink and green
a long boy a galloping toy strung out
on bird speak.
i wanna wake up
a brand new girl
i wanna wake a big old boy
but i can't cause my pool's drained
so i just dance in the rain
i had these fingerprints
shells like the dust in my palms
shells like by the sea shore
the ones i used to collect
sand creeper sand crab fleas in
like the ones you lick when you are done
with your clams and scallops
like the ones my hermit crabs shed
when they were only three months old
and they never found another
because they wanted to die
like the shells i find on trees
the katydids have already burrowed into
the ones that cicadas leave for us
to keep as our own little reminder that
you can leave a trace without being
present all the time
shells that blow through houses and homes
shells that we hear music come out of
the type that sing to you
about the sea
about the sea foam air
the sand
and the saltiness
and the saltiness
and the saltiness
of it all.