XVII. The Star (Reversed)

each second clocks a sunless year
by Gina Marie Bernard

i.
she ruminates in closeted fear—
spaces empty, voids so vast;

ii.
a knotted rope hangs brown and sere,
her answer to all questions asked.

iii.
do others always feel so queer
like actors who have been miscast?

iv.
her fine scarred wrists smile without cheer:
thin skin carved with broken glass.

v.
Death haunts the darkness always near,
voicing whispers from her past.

vi.
she founders in a fathomless mere—
head thrown back, sinking fast.

Gina Marie Bernard (she/her) is a heavily tattooed trans woman, retired roller derby vixen, and high school English teacher from Bemidji, Minnesota. Her daughters, Maddie and Parker, share her heart. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Not Very Quiet, Monkeybicycle, and Meow Meow Pow Pow. She has been nominated for Best of the Net, Best Small Fictions, and The Pushcart. Thirty West Publishing released Gina Marie’s third poetry chapbook, Taxonomies, in spring 2020. She is completing her MFA in Creative Writing at the University of Arkansas, Monticello.