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Evelyn Berry

in the backyard, we slip

off our shirts, lean back

in the hammock.

even before spring

in south carolina,

we’ve slathered ourselves

in cheap sun lotion,

the kind with sparkles.

i scrape glitter

from your skin

with my teeth.

we are feral

together, topless

& gently sun-pinked.

we sink into afternoon’s

warm promise.

summer of the push mower

& the mediocre slash-job

i perform for house owners

 

on the lower portions of their backyards,

where they cannot spy how i’ve shorn the grass

 

like a child’s head who forgets to speak back properly

to his father after opening his eyes during prayer.

 

wreathed in sweat, i march and schlep

the mower, its motor sputtering like skillet grease.

 

i beseech neighbors for ten dollars

to defile their lawns with rust-baptized blades.

 

all that’s left behind are dandelions

growing too close to stumps and shallow ditches.

 

i mourn to raze anything that grows so wild.

Evelyn Berry is a trans, southern poet, author of the forthcoming collection Grief Slut (Sundress Publications, 2024). Her chapbook Buggery received the BOOM Chapbook Prize from Bateau Press. She is a 2023 National Endowment for the Arts Fellow. Her recent work has appeared in Drunk Monkeys, South Carolina Review, Fall Lines, Fatal Flaw Magazine, Gigantic Sequins, and elsewhere. She used to teach children about the nuclear arms race, but she's recently quit her job and now instead writes other people's emails.

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